


who burns like fire on the rushing sea

by asael



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam-Centric, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Royalty, Slow Burn, Tournaments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: When Adam Parrish attends the Royal Academy, he doesn't expect to get tangled up with the nobility - and he especially does not anticipate Ronan Lynch. As he finds his place in the world, they grow closer, but nothing is ever easy. (Fantasy/Medieval AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gdocs says I created the document this fic lives in in June 2016, but that doesn't seem accurate - I'd guess I had the idea then, but only started working on it seriously in October. I always prefer to wait until I've completely finished a fic before posting it, but I've been working on this forever and I can't take it anymore. So I'm gonna flirt with danger and start posting even though I haven't completed it. I remain inspired and fully plan to finish!
> 
> I'll be updating at least once every two weeks. This should give me enough time to stay ahead when it comes to actually writing, though it's a slower update schedule than I'd like. Hopefully if you think it's interesting you'll stick with it anyway! Likely once I finish updates will come more quickly. So let's just all hope this works out the way I'm planning. Also, while there might seem to be glimmers of plot here and there, don't be fooled - this is primarily an AU exploration of Ronan and Adam and their relationship, and the focus will stay on them. There will be explicit content in later parts, and the rating and tags will change as chapters are added.
> 
> All my thanks to Kels and Rae who have been reading and betaing since the beginning, their encouragement gives me life! The title is from a poem by Rumi - you know the one:
> 
>   
> “I want a trouble-maker for a lover:  
> Blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame,  
> Who quarrels with the sky, and fights with fate,  
> Who burns like fire on the rushing sea.”  
> 

Adam sits the entrance exam for the Royal Academy days after his eighteenth birthday.

He’s been studying and working for this opportunity his entire life, saving every penny he could for the fees and travel to the capital, cramming every bit of knowledge he thinks he might need into his head.

More well-born boys have tutors. They might have family members who attended, friends who sat the exam, advice and experiences to draw on. Adam has only what he’s learned from travelers through his tiny town, only what the general population knows.

If you are intelligent or well-connected or talented enough to make it into the Royal Academy, you’re set.

Your future is assured.

Nobles have positions set aside for them from birth. Commoners have a chance at entry, if they pass the exam and if they can convince a noble to sponsor them. It’s the king’s nod to the lower class, his acknowledgement that an intelligent peasant can be worth almost as much as someone with noble blood in their veins.

It’s Adam’s only chance.

The room is large and well-furnished, full of other boys bent over their exams. Some are well-fed and dressed like noble sons, but here and there are those who Adam can tell are also commoners like him. He thinks he doesn’t stick out as badly as he feared. He’d saved his nicest clothing during the journey from his tiny village on the edge of the forest, cleaned up as best he could before coming in. Still, he’s self-conscious, certain that his poverty is clear in every movement he makes. Even the other commoners have nicer clothing, more filled-out frames.

He ignores it as best he can, concentrates on his test. It’s easier than he expected. The answers are things he’s studied, things he remembers. When he sets down his pen, caps the bottle of ink, he feels wrung out but satisfied with his performance.

As they filter out of the examination room, though, his nerves rise again. There will be a wait before the results are announced, and in that time he has to find a sponsor. A noble who believes he has promise, who believes his education will benefit the realm.

Adam always knew this would be the difficult part. He isn’t good with people, he never has been - too cold, too locked in his own head. He remembers his mother saying, sympathetically, _People just don’t like you very much, Adam_. He doesn’t know how to fix that, but he has to try.

He can’t go home. There’s nothing to go home to, his father made that clear. When he left, that was the end, and he knew he could never go back. If he fails here, he’ll become another poor peasant on the streets of the Capitol, scrounging what work he can and begging for money. Miserable. Worthless.

The day after the exam, Adam visits the first name on the list given by an exam proctor - a list of nobles who have made it known they’re willing to sponsor a commoner. (There are only five names. There were far more than five other commoners at the test. Adam tries not to think what this might mean for him.)

It doesn’t go particularly well. The man is not unkind, but he makes it clear that Adam is not what he’s looking for. He looks a little too hard at Adam’s almost threadbare shirt, listens a little too hard to the accent he tries to hide, and Adam understands.

He wants to sponsor a commoner, but not the kind of commoner that Adam is. He wants the son of a shopkeeper or an artisan, not the unwanted son of a drunk who never held down a job for longer than a few months.

Adam leaves. He stops outside the man’s luxurious estate, rests his back against the wall, watches the rich folk and their carriages go by. That isn’t going to be him. He needs someone who believes he’s worth something before he can actually _start_ being worth something, and when has anyone ever believed Adam Parrish is worth anything?

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut. He tells himself there are four more names on that list, but he knows - he _knows_ \- they’ll be the same.

Then a hand catches his arm, and he straightens up, terrified for a moment it’s a guardsman come to punish him for being in a rich quarter when he clearly doesn’t belong there.

But it isn’t. It’s a woman, her blonde hair a cloud around her, her eyes dark and deep and staring.

“I was looking for you,” she says, and Adam’s brow furrows.

“I’m sorry?”

“You certainly don’t make yourself easy to find, running all over the place like that.” She leans in, and Adam wants to step away politely but can’t, trapped against the wall the way he is.

“I think you might have confused me with someone else,” he says, bewildered, and she shakes her head and smiles.

“No. You’re the forest boy. I told them you’d be coming this year, but Calla said you might have been born a year ahead or behind, and I’d just be wandering around the city lost. But here you are. I knew it.”

Adam doesn’t know what to say, what he’s supposed to say or do. He’d like to think she’s mad, but she’s dressed too nicely for that, and something she said - _forest boy_ \- shivers in the back of his mind.

“I’m Persephone,” she says, “and you’re the boy I’m going to sponsor.”

At those words, Adam can only be pulled along in her wake. Everything happens quickly after that.

She takes him home, calmly ignoring his questions, to a cluttered house filled with women. As it turns out, they’re the king’s seers - not quite noblewomen but certainly not commoners. Something else entirely.

Calla tells him they saw him coming. Maura tells him they’ll sponsor him, so long as he studies with them as well as at the academy.

When Adam tries to ask why, Persephone stops him with a gentle hand on his arm and a firm look, and tells him he knows.

He does. He just doesn’t quite believe it.

Adam remembers one night, the worst of nights, a night he didn’t think he’d survive. His mind glances over the worst of it - the blows, the words - and skips to the end, when he’d been left on the ground outside his father’s rundown shack. He remembers his mother’s eyes on him disappointed and cool, as she shut the door behind his father. He remembers getting up, stumbling, falling again, his head ringing.

He remembers in bits and pieces how he dragged himself into the forest, seeking what little shelter he could, wandering half-conscious. He’d collapsed eventually, at the foot of a tree, and had felt for a moment the wreck of his body. Survival was all that mattered, but he couldn’t be sure of surviving. 

He remembers falling asleep there. He also remembers hearing whispers in his ears as he fell asleep, he remembers asking to survive, he remembers wanting only to make it through the night, and then another day, and then another, until he could get out. He remembers wanting to give anything for that chance.

He remembers waking up, not whole but alive. Going home, telling himself it must not have been as bad as he thought because he was bruised and battered but not in the sort of shape he thought he would be. His father had said nothing, his mother had looked vaguely surprised, and he’d continued with his life, such as it was.

After that night he had never again heard anything out of his left ear, though. After that night he’d occasionally seen things, images that shouldn’t be there, branches stretching across his vision. Sometimes he’d known things he shouldn’t, or done things he shouldn’t have been able to. 

He’d felt further away from people than ever before, but it hadn’t mattered. Not really. He wonders if that was his sacrifice. A piece of his humanity for the magic of the forest.

Now, in this moment, he thinks that bargain was more than fair. What was his humanity ever worth anyway?

He agrees, and Persephone smiles, and that’s it.

He’s a student of the Royal Academy.

As it turns out, it’s vastly different than his home, and yet still somehow similar. The setting has changed, but Adam’s place in it remains the same.

But oh, how it’s changed. The Royal Academy is beautiful, with soaring architecture all of marble and wide lawns of soft grass. The library is incredible, holding more books than Adam has seen in his life before now. The instructors are of the highest quality, knowledgeable in the subjects and devoted to their craft. 

Adam blossoms academically. He studied hard at home, on his own, when all he had was what he could learn and the books he could find in his tiny village. He studies even harder here, where knowledge is spread out before him like a feast.

But he doesn’t study for the pleasure of it. Adam has never done anything for the pleasure of it. He’s aware other boys do - he sees them roughhousing on the green, playing games, stumbling into the dormitory drunk, disappearing for a weekend out in the Capitol. But none of that is something he can afford to do, even if he wanted to. He studies hard. He has to.

Because he sees the way they look at him. That hasn’t changed - back at home, the other villagers looked at Adam that way too, with pity or contempt or a blank-eyed look that meant they were deliberately trying not to see him. They were one of the poorest families in the village, and Adam’s father had made few friends, and the bruises were too obvious.

He doesn’t have bruises anymore, but it’s clear that he’s not quite one of them, either. His clothing is all still secondhand, though he keeps it as impeccably tidy as he can. His accent slips sometimes. His skin is tan, still, from working outside, and his hands have callouses that the hands of these rich boys have never felt.

Adam tries to fit in at first, but he can’t find the right words, he can’t quite exist in the same world as the rest of them. He stops trying in favor of studying. He knows it will be important to befriend the nobles, eventually, in order to truly get his start in life, but it will be easier once he’s succeeded at this. Or so he tells himself.

He throws himself into his work. Days are spent in classes, nights are spent studying. Weekends mean time for more studying. What free hours he has are spent working - a student job in the vast library, earning enough to keep himself fed and clothed, enough to pay for the books and supplies he needs.

Once a week, he visits the cluttered, noisy home of the King’s seers. Persephone teaches him. It’s nothing like his classes at the Academy. It’s meditation, trying to calm himself, trying to communicate with the magic he’s tied to. It’s difficult for Adam, but he is learning, and he finds himself looking forward to those lessons.

It isn’t the lessons, so much. It’s that the seers are not nobles. They’re all commoners, gathered to advise the king, but most of the country thinks they’re a joke. Witches and crazy women and magic that doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. But Adam knows they have real power, even if the nobles don’t see it, and he respects what he sees. And, for a couple hours, he doesn’t have to try to pretend to be something he’s not. Persephone doesn’t care. None of them do.

Adam needs that desperately.

It’s on the way back from Persephone’s lesson that he meets Gansey.

It’s late, the sun lowering, and the streets aren’t very busy. The hard workers are home resting, the fun-seekers are just starting their drinking. So there’s no one else on the avenue near the Academy when Adam hears the commotion.

A horse and its rider, the horse temperamental, hooves knocking against the cobblestones, its high, angry whinny cutting through the evening. He can hear the rider’s voice too, all cultured tones and smooth accent, but despite that sounding more plaintive than anything.

“No - come now, calm down, there’s no need for this - you’ll throw me if you keep this up -”

And as Adam approaches it’s clear that’s a very real possibility. The nobleman doesn’t quite seem to know how to handle his mount.

She’s a beauty, impeccable, one of the most lovely horses Adam has ever seen, but in an instant it’s clear that she’s also very spirited and very displeased. She’s moments from rearing and bolting, and the man atop her moments from landing on the cobblestones and risking serious injury, or worse.

If Adam were a better person, he would act before he thought, run straight into the fray with no fear for himself. He isn’t, though. He considers the situation for a moment first, considers his chances at actually helping, considers the likelihood that this rich noble will do anything but look down his nose at Adam.

But though he considers, it’s only for a moment. Then he’s moving toward this potential disaster with care and caution, letting the horse see him approach, talking in low, soothing tones.

She calms, and lets Adam pet her forehead and soft nose, warm breath rushing against his fingers. It’s easier with animals than people. He knows what to do in this moment, in a way he hasn’t often since arriving here.

“Thank you,” the man on the horse says, and Adam recognizes him.

He’s a student at the Academy too, popular and charming, always with other noble boys circling around him. Adam doesn’t know him well and hasn’t tried to approach or speak to him, but he would be impossible not to recognize.

He dismounts, resting his hand on his horse’s neck, clearly relieved. Then he smiles at Adam.

“She’s not always like this. I’m afraid I’ve quite displeased her. It’s lucky you were there, or that might not have ended well for me. Where did you learn to handle horses like that? She calmed right down.”

“I’ve always been good with horses,” Adam says, and it’s not exactly a lie, but telling the whole truth would be impossible. How could he admit to a nobly-born and tenderly raised son like this that he earned money to get to the Capitol by working as a stableboy at an inn in the middle of nowhere? He was good at it, he could always handle the most difficult of beasts, but it’s nothing to be proud of. It’s nothing to admit.

“Well, you’ve saved me.” He holds out his hand to shake Adam’s, and Adam takes it carefully. “Gansey. I’ve seen you around school. Parrish, right? You’re at the top in nearly all our classes.”

Adam is shocked that Gansey knows his name. Has any idea who he is. He nods, uncertain.

Gansey’s expression turns a little more uncertain too, and he hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “Perhaps if you have time you could teach me what you know? I love her, but she’s always been a problem.”

Adam relaxes, just a little. “Yeah. Of course.” He doesn’t know what to think, but Gansey seems sincere in a way that so many of the other noble Academy students aren’t. Adam finds himself disarmed by Gansey’s uncertainty in a way that he wasn’t by his charisma. He can’t say anything but yes.

Gansey is his first friend at the Academy. What Adam might never admit is that Gansey is his first real friend ever, and at the beginning he almost doesn’t believe it. He thinks it’s a trick, maybe, or that it will disappear, that a noble like Gansey would never befriend a commoner like him.

He’s wrong. The very next day, Gansey sits next to him in their mathematics lesson, asks for help on a few problems. Then he convinces Adam to eat lunch with him, saying something about meeting his friend - which Adam thinks means something about the cloud of boys always orbiting him, but that turns out to be untrue. 

Gansey seems to know everyone, but his inner circle is small, a circle of two. Apparently his admirers don’t count as friends, at least not of the sort he genuinely trusts. No, instead there’s just this: Ronan Lynch.

Tall and harshly handsome, with a disdainful curl to his lip and a tattoo - normally against the rules, but allowed due to the prestige of his family name. Notorious in the Academy for always being on the verge of expulsion, for fighting and drinking, for being extremely unpleasant and barely paying attention to lessons even when he bothers to come. A knight-in-training with a bright future ahead of him, if he can make it through.

He doesn’t like Adam. That’s instantly clear from the narrowing of his eyes, the way he moves subtly to look down on him. 

Adam is annoyed, briefly, that Ronan is taller and therefore able to do that, but then he slides his eyes away and does his best to ignore the Lynch family’s biggest problem. Adam doesn’t need an enemy here, and Ronan is larger than him and clearly enjoys being intimidating. It would almost not be worth it at all, except - Gansey.

“Where’d you pick this stray up?” Ronan says with a curl of his lip, and Adam’s shoulders stiffen. But Gansey practically glows for a moment, ignoring that attitude completely.

“He helped me out of quite a pinch last night,” Gansey says, “and do you know? He’s training with the seers. Magical, you know.”

Adam wasn’t aware Gansey knew about that, but it’s not a secret. Usually it’s just another thing the students look at him strangely for, but Gansey seems to be delighted by it, truly and genuinely interested. Adam is both flattered and confused.

“You and your magical crap,” Ronan says, and rolls his eyes, but he lets it go, choosing to ignore Adam instead of snipe at him more. It’s something, at least.

“According to my father, Persephone says you’re quite promising,” Gansey says, turning his smile on Adam.

It takes him a moment, but it should have been obvious. There is only one man who Persephone would be speaking to about Adam. Adam is an idiot, an unobservant fool, because it should have been obvious from the beginning. It’s supposed to be a secret, of course, but it’s widely known that the king’s heir is studying at the Academy. Adam never listened to the gossip, never bothered to care, knowing it wouldn’t affect him - they would never travel in the same circles. 

Apparently, he was wrong. Apparently, Adam’s first friend is the crown prince, Prince Richard III.

Ronan laughs, harsh and almost cruel. “Jesus, Dick. Just put up a sign with your name painted on it, why don’t you?”

Adam tries not to look surprised, and fails. He tries not to pale, and fails at that, too.

Gansey is embarrassed and apologetic (“I don’t want there to be secrets between us,” “Well, Gansey was my mother’s family name, I greatly prefer it to Richard, please keep calling me that,” “It _is_ supposed to be a secret, but it was never a very well-kept one.”)

Things are a little awkward after that, which Ronan seems to think is hilarious. All Adam knows is that he’s suddenly found himself in far over his head, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blue appears, Ronan is good at something, and Gansey makes Adam an offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the next chapter quite early! The long weekend meant I got a lot of work done, so here you go. I can't promise the next will come as fast.

Gansey doesn’t seem to mind the difference in their stations, doesn’t seem to notice it at all. Not consciously, anyway. Adam can’t seem to _stop_ noticing the differences between them.

Gansey’s clothing, tasteful and expensive. Adam’s, carefully mended and secondhand.

Gansey’s pens and ink, always of the top quality, easily lost and never missed, because he can afford to get a thousand more if he needs to. Adam’s, looked after so carefully because a lost one means borrowing from someone else until he can spare the coins for a replacement.

Gansey’s books, purchased new, the margins filled with notes and drawings and tangents. Adam’s, already used when he bought them and meticulously cared for so that he will be able to sell them again when the term is done.

The difference between them is miles. It’s money, yes, but breeding as well. Gansey’s accent is perfect, bred into him. Adam’s slips still when he’s tired or upset. Gansey knows how to talk to the nobles at the Academy, the teachers and students both. Adam is incapable of finding the right words, saying things that don’t reveal him for who he really is.

There is a thousand miles between them, but Gansey reaches out like it’s nothing, like Adam is the friend he’s been looking for for ages. His eyes brighten when Adam expresses an interest in his obsessions (magic, myth, ancient history). He’s delighted by Adam’s skill with horses, deeply pleased by Adam’s insight and practicality. He’s full of questions about the magic - about the mystics, Persephone, Calla, Adam himself.

He treats Adam like Adam is someone worth getting to know.

Adam has never been treated like that by anyone before. He’s wary of it, but it’s still seductive. The idea that someone could _want_ to be his friend is honestly something that hasn’t occurred to him in years, if ever. Friendship is not something that ever had a place in his life, not in his tiny town where everyone knew his father, where everyone knew what Robert Parrish did to his son. Where no one did anything about it except pity him.

But Gansey doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Gansey only cares that Adam is intelligent and logical and a window onto a magical world he wants to know more about. He only cares that he _likes_ Adam, that he thinks Adam’s thoughts are worth listening to. More than the noble sons who cluster around him, hoping for recognition and power and grace. Even the ones who don’t know he’s the heir know he’s someone. 

It’s impossible to look at Gansey and not know that he’s someone.

It doesn’t sit right with Adam, though. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t figure it out until some weeks later, at the mystic’s house again, waiting for Persephone to be free for his lesson.

She’s baking a pie. Adam was frustrated the first time this happened, when he thought he was being ignored or blown off, when he wanted to start learning right then. He knows now that it isn’t a snub, isn’t anything but _Persephone_ , living life at her own impossible pace. He can try to match her, but he can never force her to match him.

And that’s all right. It gives him time to simply be, to stop thinking about the Academy and his studies and the rich boys there who don’t give him the time of day. He feels welcome here.

This time, a girl comes bustling in, carrying a bag of fruit from the market down the street. She’s short, pretty in an unconventional way, her hair cut short and bristling out from clips that are doing a terrible job keeping it in check. She doesn’t look like most of the girls Adam has seen here, though admittedly he has not been making any effort to meet girls. He sits up straighter, feeling awkward suddenly.

She looks back at him, apparently just as surprised to see him. Her brow furrows, then clears.

“ _Oh,_ ” she says, “you must be Adam.”

“Yes?” Adam says, and winces at the way it sounds like a question. She grins then, suddenly.

“Persephone’s student, yeah, she talks about you. Sorry, I’m Blue.” Blue sets down the bag and holds out her hand, and Adam shakes it, still feeling somewhat out of his depth. “I’m Maura’s daughter.”

Adam thinks that Maura did, at one point, mention having a daughter. She said that Blue was away, if he remembers right, visiting her father. Adam hadn’t taken any notice of it then, occupied as he was with starting at the Academy and learning how to meditate and reach out to the forest in his mind. But maybe he should have, because here she is.

“Adam Parrish,” he says, and summons up a careful smile for her. She really is very pretty, though if she’s Maura’s daughter, that also means she’s very off-limits. Calla was extremely clear about the inadvisability of getting involved with anyone living in that house, given the likelihood of doing magic with them, the delicate relationships needed, and the emotions that could end up making concentration difficult. And also something about fancy Academy boys and leg-breaking.

Honestly, Adam hadn’t paid that much attention. Pretty or not, Orla or Blue or anyone else in that house, he doesn’t have the time or emotional energy for romance right now. Maybe ever.

But Blue is pretty, and he can look, at least.

She’s casual and friendly but prickly, and Adam warms to her quickly. They talk about Persephone, Adam’s lessons, Blue’s travels. Her accent is more like his, though not quite - a lower-born peasant of the capitol rather than someone from a poor village like him - and it helps, strangely enough.

They chat for awhile before she brings up the Academy, with the candor that he’s beginning to learn is typical of Blue.

“It must drive you up the wall, dealing with those stuck-up pricks all day,” she says, shaking her head. “I see them out in town - they’re awful. Some of them even come here for readings and stuff.”

Adam thinks maybe he should defend the honor of his schoolmates, but really, he sees no reason to lie. “They’re pretty bad,” he says with a quiet laugh. “Mostly I keep to myself. Even the ones who aren’t nobles are - well, a lot better off than me.”

Blue makes a quiet _hmm_ noise and looks at him, her gaze keen and rather penetrating. “What, they’re such dicks they won’t even make friends with you?” She seems almost angry on his behalf, and Adam finds himself oddly flattered. He thinks it’s more that she hates most Academy students, rather than that she’s protective of him - they’ve only just met. Still, it’s nice.

“Just a couple. Um - Gansey.” As Adam says it, he realizes she might actually know him. When he sees the look on her face, he knows that she _definitely_ does.

“Oh, god,” Blue says with a roll of her eyes. “The prince? You _would_ make friends with him.”

She doesn’t seem angry, or as dismissive as she was about the other students, though. There’s exasperation in her voice, but something that might be fondness as well.

“He comes here sometimes,” Blue says, “or he used to. All scholarly and polite. I thought he was making fun of us at first.”

Adam gets that. He thought the same thing, until he realized Gansey’s sincere interest, his genteel manners and his enthusiasm for anything that catches his fancy. 

“He’s all right, though,” Blue continues, though her tone is reluctant, as if pronouncing Gansey _all right_ is a great sacrifice for her. Her cheeks redden a little, though, and Adam notices. “I got into an argument with him about how stupid it is the Academy doesn’t admit girls, and - well, he didn’t get it. I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t. But I guess he tried.”

“That sounds like him,” Adam says, and Blue nods, quiet for a moment before continuing.

“He’s just - he’s so used to the way he lives, to not having to work for things. People always ready to be his friends, everyone ready to give him whatever he wants. He could be way more of an asshole than he is, so that’s pretty okay, but it’s still… I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

And Adam does, though he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it before. Gansey is kind, Gansey is a good person. He’s a good friend, he’s sought Adam out every day now to sit with him in class or eat lunch together. He’s genuinely interested, and his company is something Adam looks forward to.

But he _doesn’t_ get it. He doesn’t understand where Adam comes from, doesn’t understand that their lives are so different. Adam notices it in every moment - Gansey barely notices it at all. It’s frustrating in a strange way, because Adam doesn’t think it’s wrong, exactly.

It’s who Gansey is. Oblivious about some things, but he tries. Adam has been wary because he’s not used to it, because every moment he expects Gansey to come to his senses and see the difference in their stations and turn away from him.

But even though they haven’t known each other long, Adam doesn’t think that will happen. He fears it, because Adam’s life has been nothing but fear, but logically he doesn’t think Gansey is that sort of person. Blue knows it, too, he can tell from the way she picks her words so carefully, her averted eyes when she talks of Gansey.

Gansey is a good person, a good friend. Not perfect, but neither he nor Blue would be so charmed by perfection.

“Anyway, you could do way worse, I guess,” Blue says. She purses her lips. “I guess if he’s still interested in magic and stuff, you could bring him by sometime.”

Adam almost smiles, but stops himself in time. Then Persephone floats in, and it’s time for his lesson. He bids farewell to Blue, knowing he’ll likely see her again next time he comes, and heads off for a few hours of frustrating tarot cards and leaves brushing the back of his neck.

It helps, though. Blue probably didn’t mean for it to, but seeing Gansey through her eyes for a moment helps. It settles some of Adam’s wariness, reminds him that while it comes from an understandable place, it doesn’t necessarily have any ground to stand on.

Gansey is the crown prince. Adam is the son of a drunk. They have nothing in common, but that doesn’t mean their friendship can’t be true.

It’s only later, as he walks back to the dormitories, that he wishes he could have asked her if she’d ever met Ronan Lynch.

Adam doesn’t know what to think of Ronan. Ronan is nothing like Gansey, nothing like Adam. His clothing is artfully messy, finely made but deliberately torn. His pens are broken or lost on purpose, ink spilled if any attention is paid to it at all. His books are never opened, his homework never done.

He probably hates Adam.

He tolerates Adam’s presence, but only because of Gansey. Everything about him is a danger sign, and Adam has lived his life knowing what to look for, how to protect himself by avoiding that sort of thing as much as he can. He supposes the same is true for him, really - he tolerates Ronan’s presence, but only because of Gansey.

But Adam doesn’t kid himself. He’s the latecomer. If Gansey were ever forced to choose, Adam’s would not be the side he ended up on.

Adam doesn’t intend to ever make him choose. At first, he feared that Ronan would - it was clear enough that Ronan disliked his intrusion into their friendship, disliked him. But as the days and then weeks passed, and Gansey seemed intent on the friendship, it became clear that Ronan was willing to tolerate him, if not like him.

Adam is an observant creature. The fact of the matter is that by tolerating him, Ronan is already doing more than he does for nearly anyone else at the Academy.

Like Adam, Ronan does not appear to have friends besides Gansey. He is equally as out-of-place at the Academy, though he comes from nearly as much privilege as Gansey himself. Ronan simply doesn’t like schooling, doesn’t seem to like other nobles, and is more interested in fighting and drinking and racing horses than in anything like studying. There are other boys interested in that, some of them even worse trouble than Ronan, but they’re dedicated to dissolution in a way that Ronan isn’t.

He is meant to be a knight - as the second son of one of the most prestigious families in the kingdom, he’s meant to be a great knight, the sort songs are written about.

Adam’s not sure he’ll even make it out of the Academy.

He’s heard the stories. He knows that Lord Niall Lynch was killed, that his two eldest sons have deep differences, that Ronan is acting out because of this tragedy. Adam has not mentioned it, nor will he. Ronan’s problems are not his to solve. All he wants to do is survive, to maintain his friendship with Gansey, to forge a path.

He can’t let Ronan get under his skin.

But the real truth of the matter is that as the weeks pass, Adam comes to realize that Ronan is really not that bad.

He fights, yes. He’s dangerous, certainly. He looms and intimidates and scowls at Adam, snaps at him occasionally, like a half-wild dog. But he never actually hurts Adam.

Ronan doesn’t like book-learning, but he’s not at all stupid. He just doesn’t seem to have time for it, doesn’t seem to think it’s relevant to him. He barely shows up to class - as it turns out, he and Adam have a couple classes together - and when he does he doesn’t pay attention, staring out the window or mocking the teacher or sometimes trying to distract Adam. But he knows a lot about animals, has a strange store of esoteric facts, and is quite skilled at languages.

He is also an excellent fighter.

There are different tracks at the Academy. For those like Ronan - the noble sons, meant to be commanders of men and great knights - there are a variety of types of physical training in addition to the basic scholarly subjects. Ronan studies swordsmanship and archery, riding and military maneuvers and all those things meant for soldiers. 

It’s not a wise path for a commoner like Adam, who could never be a knight anyway. That’s just fine with him, as he has no desire to find out whether the anger he tries so hard to fight could ever take over, if he could ever become his father. He studies strategy, because it interests him and because he thinks he could become some lord’s advisor someday, but that’s the extent of Adam’s military aspirations. His choice of classes leans toward politics, trade, diplomacy. All things that would not suit someone like Ronan Lynch, who seems made for war.

After some weeks of knowing one another, Adam finally sees him fight for the first time. He is meant to meet Gansey, but a servant brings a note that he is running late and that Adam should meet him by the training ground. He doesn’t really think about why Gansey would choose that of all places, but it becomes clear when he arrives there, because Ronan is already there.

He’s practicing with one of the instructors, and he is winning.

Adam doesn’t know enough about swordsmanship to really understand Ronan’s skill, but even so, it’s incredible to watch. He moves like the weapon is part of him, like he knows exactly where to strike and when. Like he sees the next move coming.

The swords they use are wooden practice swords, but the match seems almost serious regardless. Adam tries to follow the action, leaning against the fence at the end of the yard, but all he can really follow is the movement of Ronan’s body, the fierce joy and concentration on his face.

He thinks maybe this is what Ronan is meant to do. No wonder he can’t stand sitting in classrooms studying, not when he has this waiting for him. No wonder there are murmurs about his skill - about his potentially wasted skill, given the fights he gets into off-campus, the drinking.

There is no dramatic end to the battle. Adam is watching, but he’s never trained in the sword, he doesn’t really know how bouts work - he thinks Ronan scores a point, or perhaps the instructor does. Either way, they part, breathing hard, a sheen of sweat on Ronan’s forehead. They nod to each other, meet in the middle to talk, the instructor demonstrating a move.

Adam watches them. He’s never seen Ronan in his element before. He thinks he understands something better now, though he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Ronan notices him there as the instructor leaves. He walks over, wiping off some of his sweat with a spare rag, and grins that sharp smile of his. It’s not exactly friendly.

“Like the show?” he says, and there’s something confrontational about his tone.

Adam ignores it completely, as if it weren’t even there. He’s taken to doing that with Ronan, rather than frown or scold him the way Gansey sometimes does. It works, at least until he lets Ronan get under his skin.

“You’re really good,” Adam says simply. Ronan glances away from him - not bashful, quite, but as if he wasn’t expecting that.

“As if you’d know,” he says, but there’s not as much venom in his tone as Adam would expect.

Adam is about to say something in return - maybe _some things are just obvious_ or maybe _too bad you’re such an asshole_ \- but then Gansey is there, smiling at both of them.

“Terribly sorry I made you wait like that,” he says, as relaxed and upper crust as ever, and Adam is distracted.

“It wasn’t so bad. Lynch was showing off,” he says, and smiles at Ronan, just for a moment. Ronan scowls, of course.

“Yes, excellent, isn’t he?” Gansey says, proud of his friend, or maybe just proud that Ronan is good at something besides pissing off teachers and cutting class. “He’ll make a marvelous knight-captain.”

It’s not the first time Adam has heard that. He’s known since not long after he met Gansey and Ronan that Ronan’s path was assured - so long as he manages to become a knight, instead of meeting a bad end in some alleyway. The two of them have been friends for some years now, and it seems that before Ronan’s father died he’d already agreed to become Gansey’s knight-captain. Not simply a knight, attending tourneys and taking care of border skirmishes, but the one at the right hand of the king, leading the forces within the Capitol and working with the commanders of the royal armies.

Adam doesn’t know if Ronan truly has the temperament for it. He’s volatile, easily angered. Gansey attempts to balance him, but when Gansey is the king, that will be much more difficult. Still, perhaps by then Ronan will have evened out. 

They have time. Gansey’s father is in good health, and they each have two years left at the Academy. After that, Gansey will take his place as the crown prince and attend to diplomacy, royal affairs, politics. Ronan will - if he makes it that long - begin working with the current knight-captain, honing his skills, making his name.

Adam doesn’t know what he’ll do. If he is clever and lucky, he will find a position within a great noble’s household - an advisor or a chamberlain, tending to someone else’s affairs. He could likely make his way as a seer, but though he’s growing to love magic, few people in the kingdom truly believe in or respect it. As an advisor, he could use his magic without relying on it. He does not particularly want to become a businessman, but it’s an option. There’s no future in being an academic, either, though Adam does like learning.

Gansey, he thinks, would make a better academic. It’s only too bad his future is set, but kings are allowed to have quirks. He will be able to pursue his interests even while ruling.

Adam tries not to think too hard about what this friendship with Gansey could mean to him. He doesn’t want charity, he doesn’t want to win a place in someone’s household simply because he’s friends with the crown prince. But at the same time, knowing Gansey will open doors for him, doors he could never open himself.

He has two years left, so he has managed not to think of it too much. But that ends quickly when Gansey speaks again.

“Which brings me to what delayed me today.” He looks nervous for a moment, uncertain. Adam glances at Ronan, sees that he has as little idea what this is about as Adam does.

“I was speaking to my father,” Gansey says, and turns the full focus of his attention on Adam. Ronan shifts, suddenly uncomfortable, and Adam holds himself very still. This is something serious. “Adam, you’re the smartest person I know, and the most practical. You have the best grades - I don’t believe there’s a thing you don’t excel at, and you’re certainly the hardest worker here. In addition, your magical knowledge is invaluable. I believe - we both believe - that you would be an excellent choice to serve as my advisor, once you have completed your studies.”

Adam feels frozen. He hasn’t even allowed himself to consider this possibility, though part of him knew it was one. No king has ever had an advisor who was common-born. Few of the great nobles have, even. It is far beyond his ambitions, though once the words are out of Gansey’s mouth he feels like this was inevitable.

Because Gansey is his friend. Gansey cares for him, Gansey wants the best for him. Gansey has hundreds of nobles to choose from, most of whom are just as well-educated as Adam will be, if not more.

This is charity, this is Gansey trying to give him a helping hand. He can’t think of anything else.

Ronan makes a sound, something like a scoff, an expression of anger and disbelief, Adam thinks. He’s always hard to read. “Seriously?” he says.

The look Gansey gives him is scolding, like a disappointed father. “This isn’t your decision, Ronan.”

But Adam knows what Ronan means. He knows that Ronan sees what this is, that he sees Gansey’s pity for what it is. Ronan knows Gansey could do better, and he knows that Adam taking this position would expose Gansey to ridicule at best. Even if Adam was the best choice, it would.

“I can’t,” Adam says, and he still feels frozen.

Gansey does not look surprised. “Please, think it over. I am entirely serious about this offer. You have plenty of time to consider it.”

Adam wants to say _I can’t_ again, wants to list out all the reasons it would be impossible. Wants to scream at Gansey for doing this to him. But he can’t seem to speak, burning with shame and something like anger.

Gansey turns away, as if it’s over. Ronan looks at Adam for a moment, his eyes sharp, something within them seeming to burn Adam’s skin, to flay him alive.

Ronan knows what he is. Ronan knows he isn’t good enough.

Adam knows it too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam finds trouble in the city at night and comes to a decision.

Gansey doesn’t bring his offer up again, but it lays between them like something that could eventually explode. Adam tries not to think about it, tells himself he has plenty of time, that Gansey will wise up and realize Adam can’t take his charity.

He can’t _not_ think about it sometimes, though. Alone in his uncomfortable dormitory bed at night, dreaming for a moment of what his life could be like as an advisor to the king. Adam has always had ambition, but that’s so far beyond what he thought was possible that it’s difficult to even imagine.

Other nights he only feels anger when he thinks of it. Anger and shame, because it’s not a real offer, because it’s not something he’s earned. He imagines the looks on the faces of the other Academy students if they knew, the disbelief. The disgust that the lords and ladies of the court would have, looking at him, seeing him for what he is. A peasant that the crown prince pities.

He thinks he sees it in Ronan’s eyes sometimes. But then, he’s no good at reading Ronan.

He realizes that with harsh suddenness a couple months after Gansey’s offer.

They’ve spent the time since studying, going to classes. Exploring the city some, when there’s free time. Pursuing whatever story Gansey’s gotten attached to, a historical figure or a fairy tale or something else. Adam has worked, Ronan has gotten himself into trouble. 

They’re all growing closer, slowly, and Adam has never had friends before.

He doesn’t know if he can really call Ronan a friend, though. Not until that night.

He’s coming home after a late night. Always in need of extra money, Adam has taken to helping at the docks occasionally, loading ships or tallying account books, whichever they’re most in need of. It brings him back to the dormitory late, but he isn’t terribly concerned by walking through the city at night. Though he’d never been in a large city before coming to the Capitol, Adam has found that so long as he’s careful and aware of his surroundings, he’ll be fine.

Being careful and aware of his surroundings has been second nature for a very long time.

On this night, he turns to cut through an alleyway and pauses, alerted by the sounds of a fight. Not safe to go down there, then, and Adam is ready to take the long way.

Then he hears Ronan’s voice.

He’s swearing, inventively and musically. He sounds more taunting than angry, like he’s encouraging the fight, like he wants to fire it up even more.

Adam knows Ronan goes out to the city at night. He knows Ronan drinks and fights, and sometimes wastes good horses in stupid races. It’s never been any of his business, though, not until now.

They’re in a dim pool of lantern-light down the alley. Adam can see them clearly, knows the glare of the light means they can’t see much outside of each other. It’s three men, two drunk scoundrels and Ronan (the third drunk scoundrel). 

_Ronan will be fine_ , Adam thinks, _I should keep going_.

He doesn’t want to intervene. He knows Ronan won’t thank him for it, will only hate him more. And, truthfully, Adam is afraid.

It’s been so long since his father laid a hand on him, but memories like that don’t disappear. They’re burned into Adam, and when he thinks of fighting, it’s that he thinks of. His father’s blows, Adam trying to find the right words to calm his anger and never succeeding.

He should walk on by. But then he sees the third man coming out of the doorway behind the rest of them.

Two, and Ronan would probably be fine. Even drunk he’s an excellent fighter. 

Three is pushing it. 

Then he sees the glint of the knife in the hand of the third man, sees him slash out at Ronan. It hits, and Ronan stumbles back, and Adam sees blood on his shirtsleeve. He feels, briefly, frozen.

Ronan might be stupid enough to want to die, but Adam doesn’t want to let him. 

It’s a split-second decision, but in the end, not so difficult. Not so dangerous, either.

Adam looks at the blood on Ronan’s shirt, looks at the empty streets around him, and shouts, “ _Guards!_ ” as loudly as he can.

He’s not sure it’ll be enough, but it is. They’re drunk and stupid and brawling, and none of them wants to get hauled off to be dealt with as the guards see fit. They scatter, leaving Ronan slumped against the wall of one of the buildings. Adam rushes to him down the alley, reaching his side in moments.

The wound is not nearly as bad as it could be. It’s hard to tell with Ronan’s shirt still on, but to Adam it looks like the knife scored a long line down his lower arm. Bloody and deep, but nothing vital.

Ronan blinks at him, surprise breaking through whatever pain he might feel. Breaking through the alcohol, too. “Parrish?”

“You idiot,” Adam said, the only possible thing he could say in that moment. He’s shaking, the adrenaline of the moment catching up to him, and he wants to yell at Ronan and slap him and tell him to get his shit together, that next time Adam will just leave him. He doesn’t say that, though. All he says is, “you could have died.”

There’s anger in his voice, but something else as well. Ronan doesn’t seem to catch it, only blinking at him, brow furrowed. It’s then that Adam realizes just how drunk he is. He probably didn’t even feel the knife.

Within Adam there’s a flare of anger, and then it fades into nothing but exhaustion.

“Let’s get you to the school infirmary,” Adam says, though it’s late and he’s not sure they’ll even be awake.

Ronan shakes his head. “Got a doctor.”

Because of course he does, Adam thinks, because he’s richer than Adam can even imagine. He sighs.

“Where?”

Ronan gives him directions. They’re vague and a little contradictory, but Adam is pretty sure he knows where to go anyway. He catches hold of Ronan’s uninjured arm, ready to lead him and keep him from walking into any gutters or midden heaps, as satisfying as that might be to watch.

Adam shouldn’t be the one doing this. Ronan doesn’t listen to him, doesn’t even like him. The care and feeding of Ronan Lynch falls to Gansey, who has been his friend for years, who he trusts and likes. Not Adam the newcomer, intruding on a friendship that doesn’t belong to him.

But as much as Adam knows this isn’t his place, he still tries. He can’t leave Ronan drunk and bleeding in an alley. And, miraculously, Ronan follows.

He stumbles along silently for awhile, then seems to realize something. Luckily, he is on Adam’s right side, so Adam can hear him when he talks.

“The fuck are you doing here, Parrish?” he says, as if he’s just now realized that Adam was wandering around after dark in one of the worse parts of the city. As if he’s only just put Adam in context with their surroundings and thought, _what the hell?_

Adam smiles, thin, though he doesn’t think Ronan sees it. “On my way back from the docks. I was working.” The instant he says it, he regrets it, expect an offensive comment about dockside whores or something else designed to get under his skin. 

“What, you planning to be a sailor?” Ronan says with a harsh laugh. “Gonna waste all this fancy education you’re working so hard for?”

“No,” Adam says, “I just don’t have a rich father looking out for me.” Then he falls silent, because he knows that was a shitty thing to say.

It’s something he thinks about a lot, watching the students around him. Watching them not care about things that would cost him a day’s pay, watching them get in trouble and wheedle their way out of it because of family influence. Adam can’t do that, could never afford to even try. And it’s true that Ronan’s family, Ronan’s money, Gansey’s influence is what keeps him at the Academy regardless of how many fights he gets into in dark alleys.

But Ronan doesn’t have a rich father looking out for him, either.

Ronan is silent, and after a long, awkward moment, Adam says, “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

He wasn’t. He’s never said anything like that to Ronan before, never would have if he’d had his head on straight. He’s just - tired, confused, annoyed, still a little shaky from adrenaline and fear. He could have a million excuses, and that still wouldn’t make it right.

Ronan shrugs, and Adam doesn’t think he’s forgiven, exactly, but he doesn’t think it’ll be an issue between them, either. He finds himself more relieved than he’d have expected to be.

There’s silence then, for a long moment, before Ronan speaks again.

“You’ve got a father, though.” It’s not a question, and Adam feels himself stiffen. “That the one who made you start flinching when people move too quick around you?”

He didn’t think anyone had noticed. That Ronan, of all people, has is a strange and uncomfortable thing.

“That’s none of your business,” Adam says, and Ronan scoffs.

“So what if some piece of shit beat you up?” he says, tripping over his words just a little thanks to the alcohol. Adam hates liquor, can smell it on him, but he doesn’t let go or step away. “You’re gonna get a place next to the fucking king, and then he can suck it.”

It’s eloquent, in a way, and Adam’s lips quirk. But past the momentary amusement, he doesn’t know what to think. There’s none of the resentment or disgust he’d expect to hear in Ronan’s voice. “I thought you didn’t want me to be Gansey’s advisor.”

“Never said that,” Ronan says, and then he falls silent again. Adam can feel the warmth of his body where they’re touching, where his hand is wrapped around Ronan’s arm. He so rarely touches others, is so rarely touched himself. The simple contact of their bodies is a distraction, one that Adam does his best to ignore - it’s a weakness he can’t afford. But Ronan is not fighting him, simply letting Adam lead him and keep him steady. Adam thinks this is the closest they’ve ever been.

He also thinks Ronan’s lost the thread of the conversation, until he speaks again.

“You’re too fucking smart to be wasted on some shitty country lord somewhere.”

Adam doesn’t know what to think. Ronan is never so honest with him, never so open. Never very complimentary.

They never spend any time alone together. Not without Gansey.

“You don’t like me,” Adam says, and he bites his lip when he hears himself phrase it as a question, rather than an assertion. He _knows_ Ronan doesn’t like him. Except he’s not so sure anymore.

“You’re all right,” Ronan says, and looks at him for a brief moment that, later, Adam will think he probably imagined. Because there’s a look in Ronan’s eyes that is unreadable, impossible. A little hungry.

Then he looks away, and Adam is shaken. He collects his thoughts, puts himself back on track, finds himself unable to resist pressing Ronan just a tiny bit more. Not about anything so very personal, but - about something that’s been winding Adam into knots.

“So you think I should accept his offer?”

Ronan snorts, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “Can’t believe you haven’t yet. Fuck, the sole saving grace of going to court with Gansey is gonna be watching all those stuck up lords having to look you in your pretty face and play nice, knowing the whole time Gansey picked you over one of them. Knowing you’re _better_ than them.”

Adam is speechless. Ronan is drunk, he tells himself, as if that makes anything make sense. Ronan doesn’t know what he’s saying, surely isn’t being honest. Except Ronan never lies, it seems to be a point of pride for him, part of his strange and oddly strict moral code - the sort of thing that allows fighting and drinking and skipping class, but not lying or casual entanglements or betrayal.

But all of it is impossible - _you’re better than them_ , _you’re too fucking smart_ , hell - even _pretty face_ , which Adam is certainly not but which coming from someone as frighteningly handsome as Ronan almost means something.

“You’re drunk,” he says in a soft murmur, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Hell yes I am,” Ronan says, sounding proud of himself. Adam rolls his eyes.

“You also got _stabbed_ ,” he says, annoyance laced with a touch of amusement in his voice, and they’re back on solid ground.

“Oh, fuck,” Ronan says, as if he just realized that Adam is correct and he did indeed get stabbed. “I liked this shirt.”

Adam wants to be angry, but he wants to laugh too, and mostly he just wants to get Ronan somewhere safe.

They make it to the doctor - often employed by the Lynch family, he recognizes Ronan instantly - and they don’t mention that night again.

But Adam thinks about it sometimes. The warmth of Ronan’s body, unexpected truths, and the sudden searing knowledge that Ronan doesn’t dislike him. Not only doesn’t dislike him, but might actually like him.

It changes a lot of things.

Adam already tried not to let Ronan get under his skin too much, but now he interprets the things Ronan says and does differently. If Ronan doesn’t hate him, then his teasing - rude as it might be sometimes - is more friendly than mocking. If Ronan doesn’t hate him, then it’s not disgust in his eyes when he looks at Adam. If Ronan doesn’t hate him - well, they can be friends. Actual friends.

It makes sense, he thinks, that it took them awhile to get to this point. They’re both bad at making friends - Ronan because he’s aggressive and angry and overly honest, Adam because he’s cautious and distant and expects to be disliked, ignored, looked down on. But Ronan is funny, too, and fiercely loyal, and every once in awhile he shows a hidden sort of kindness that Adam would never have expected.

Usually they still do things together with Gansey - he’s the focal point of their friendship, the thing they have in common. But though Gansey is supposedly in disguise, he is still the heir to the throne, and as such he often has duties at the palace or elsewhere. Before, this meant that Adam would study, or work if he could find some, and Ronan would practice or disappear to find trouble.

Now they still do all of those things on their own, sure. But sometimes instead Adam takes his books to the training ground and studies while Ronan practices, watching him fight when he needs a break, watch the ease with which he moves. Sometimes Ronan comes to bother him at work, just enough to entertain - Adam will kick him out if he gets too distracting. Sometimes they eat together, or Adam convinces Ronan to actually study a little, or Ronan talks him into something stupid.

It’s not like being friends with Gansey. Ronan has more sharp edges, still gets into fights and finds trouble and says things that make Adam angry. They bicker, they ignore each other, but it always fades quickly. Ronan is more reckless than Gansey, harder to understand, more dangerous.

It’s just - different.

Adam likes it.

When Gansey picks up on the changed atmosphere between his friends, he likes it too. He’s nothing but pleased that his ‘two best friends’ have become friends with each other as well, as if it’s all that he ever wanted. They study together, wander together, indulge Gansey together.

Adam is almost able to forget about Gansey’s offer, but it’s impossible. It lingers in the back of his mind, something he’ll have to face eventually.

And finally, a month before their first year ends, he corners Adam.

He does it in a very sincere way, careful and a little embarrassed. Like he’s been thinking about it, like he isn’t sure of anything.

Adam doesn’t know what to think.

They’re in Gansey’s dormitory room - he has his own, of course. The palace is close enough that he could have stayed there, but that would surely have defeated the purpose of pretending to be a normal student. (A ruse that hardly anyone is fooled by anymore.) They’re studying, or Adam is studying and Gansey is indulging in one of his obscure historical interests.

Then Gansey falls silent, turns to Adam, and asks oh-so-carefully, “have you thought about it? My offer, I mean.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue, waiting for Adam’s answer.

Adam isn’t sure how to answer. He sits in silence for a long moment, trying not to notice the way Gansey gets more nervous, trying not to be oddly gratified by that - by the idea that anyone could be nervous waiting for his response to something, much less someone like Gansey. Exceptional, confident, eyes full of stars.

“I have,” Adam says, aware of the hesitation in his voice but unable to hide it. Since his conversation with Ronan, he’s no longer so certain that Gansey chose him out of pity and friendship. Ronan didn’t seem to question his abilities, seemed to take it as obvious that Adam deserves something like that.

But then, Ronan was drunk. Adam still can’t reconcile himself to the idea of taking Gansey’s charity. On some level, he’s sure that’s what it is. Even so, he can’t quite bring himself to turn it down flat.

“I’m not a noble,” Adam says. It’s only the beginning of a long list of reasons why he’s a poor choice, but Gansey cuts him off with an air of excitement.

“Yes, that’s why you’d be perfect. My father, and his father before him, all down the line - they’ve always had nobles as advisors, people already close to the throne. The kingdom has done well enough, but don’t you think we’re not serving our peasants properly?” This is something Gansey has thought about, it’s clear, and Adam is startled by it. “Why, your own village is so desperately poor you couldn’t even get proper schooling there.”

Adam stiffens at that, instantly offended. He knows Gansey doesn’t mean it as an insult, he _knows_ that, but all he can think about is his secondhand clothing, his used books, his jobs at the library and the docks, his ease with horses. How hard he works, how obvious it is that he works hard.

“I think I’ve done fine,” he bites out, and he sees Gansey’s face change.

“Oh! I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve done incredibly, especially considering what you’ve come from. You’re the best student here, the smartest, the most promising. Everyone knows that. It doesn’t matter what came before.”

But it does matter. It’s part of Adam, it always will be. Shivering in the corner of the tiny hut he shared with his parents, picking up extra work wherever he could, trying to keep the money hidden from his father so it would be spent on food instead of liquor. Living with bruises and an empty belly, seeing the pity in other people’s eyes. It’ll always be with him.

It takes a moment for his anger to subside. A moment of breathing, of feeling the soft brush of leaves against the back of his neck. Since he started studying with Persephone, the forest comes to him more easily, especially when his emotions are high. When it senses something off. It helps him center himself, distracts him, soothes the anger that he inherited from his father. The anger he can’t ignore, but that he doesn’t want to give in to either.

He bites back any further sharp words, and thinks about what Gansey has said. Adam’s past does make him ideal if what Gansey wants is to provide the kingdom with a different perspective. It doesn’t sit right with Adam, knowing that the things he most wants to get away from are what Gansey sees as valuable, but he can at least understand the logic there. If it’s the truth.

He looks Gansey in the eye. “I don’t want your charity, Gansey.” His voice is steady, he tries not to make it sharp. He tries to keep it firm, make himself very clear.

Gansey looks startled, opens his mouth as if to say something, then stops.

They’ve argued before about things like this. Gansey, rich and charitable, offered Adam help regularly when they first became friends, and even Adam’s desire to hold on to the friendship hadn’t kept him from finally blowing up about it. They fought, and they have a few times since. But they’ve always made up, and they’re both more careful now - Adam has the forest to roll away his unjust anger, Gansey tries to watch his words.

For a future king, he is very good at accidentally putting his foot in his mouth. Right now, Adam watches him trying to find the right words.

“It isn’t charity,” he finally says, summoning all the sincerity he can. And Adam knows he’s honest, or he thinks he’s being honest. He knows the difference between Gansey-the-heir, charming and smooth and practiced, and his Gansey. What he thinks of as the real Gansey. “Adam, don’t you see? You have a better head on your shoulders than anyone here. It’s not just grades or intelligence. You see things so clearly, and your magic only aids with that. I want that. I was raised at court, so it’s hard for me to see past the politics and the intrigue, but you -”

Gansey smiles then, a boyish and handsome thing. “I always remember that time right after we met, when Lord Carruthers’ son tried to tell you not to sit with me. You froze him with one look and asked him who he was. The look on his face - that’s what I want, Adam. I want your ability to look past these things.”

Adam doesn’t quite remember it that way. He hadn’t meant to be rude to the next Lord Carruthers, he hadn’t even known who he was. His question had been an honest one, his irritation honest as well. It hadn’t been some kind of powerplay, and he’d been embarrassed later, though now that he knows Tad Carruthers better he doesn’t regret it one bit.

But maybe that’s what Gansey means. Adam can learn how to navigate the court, already is learning how to act around rich heirs, but it will never mean the same thing to him that it does to others. He’ll always see different things, whether because of where he’s from or the magic flowing through him.

He looks at Gansey, breathes, bites his lip.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he says, and is a little surprised to find that’s true. He’s _considering_ it now, in a way he didn’t before. Considering the idea of helping Gansey rule his kingdom, enhancing that brilliance and charisma with his own meager skills, balancing Ronan’s passion and impulsiveness with his own calculation and caution. Giving Gansey what he can, all his skills, for the good of - not the kingdom, not really. Adam might be a bad person for this, but he doesn’t care much for the kingdom as a whole. But for his friend? For Gansey? For Ronan?

He wants them to prosper. He wants them to be safe. Does he really want to entrust that to someone else?

Gansey smiles then, true and something bordering on delighted. “Thank you,” he says, as if Adam were doing him a real favor. Adam feels ashamed for a moment, ashamed that he can’t give Gansey exactly what he wants instantly.

But there’s something else he needs to take into account.

That night, in the common room off his dormitory, he sets a chipped wooden bowl on a table. It’s late enough that everyone is either asleep or getting there, so he shouldn’t be disturbed. He fetches a pitcher, pours water into the bowl.

This is something he’s getting better at. Before, at home, he saw things sometimes. For months, with Persephone, he tried to learn control, tried to learn how to see what he wants or needs to see. How to interpret what he does see.

A few months ago, he’d never have dreamed of doing this alone. It’s too easy to get lost, too easy to wander from your body. But the forest wants him safe, even if it doesn’t quite understand how humans work, and Adam has learned how to ask it to lead him back to himself.

It’s not perfect. It’s still dangerous. But he doesn’t intend to do this for long.

He only has one question, after all.

Adam leans over the bowl and begins to scry.

 _It can be like sinking into the ocean_ , Persephone said once, but it’s not like that for Adam. It’s like awakening from sleep, finding himself curled in tree roots, leaves, brambles. The brush of wind on his cheek, the scent of grass and wild things. Vague images, figures, some human and some not. Overwhelming it all, the sensation of the forest enfolding him.

He holds the question in his mind, as he has done with so many questions before. Sometimes there are no answers, sometimes there are answers he doesn’t understand. This time, it’s clear.

This time, when he awakens from his wanderings, gazing at the unbroken surface of the water, he knows exactly what answer he’s been given.

It makes him smile, the strange inhuman simplicity of it, the selfishness at the heart of it. Not selfishness, really, but self-preservation. Because that’s what he’s for, he knows. That’s why the forest chose him. To keep it safe. Safe from too many human depredations, safe from magical harm. To protect it in ways it can’t protect itself, to be its emissary to the outside world, to act in its interests.

It does not truly understand what a king is, but it understands power. It understands that the more power Adam has in the human world, the more power he’ll have to protect it.

Laughably simple, when you get right down to it. Adam should have known that the answer to _what should I do?_ would be _protect me, magician_.

And venturing outside himself, he ventured inside as well. The forest uncurled a bud within him, coaxed it to begin blooming, to make him understand what he wants.

A life spent with the only friends he’s ever had, instead of finding a place with a near-stranger. Working with people he can trust, instead of being unsure of his lord’s motives. Persephone and the other seers nearby if he needs them. Friendship and stability, Gansey’s historical obsessions and Ronan’s rude remarks.

After talking to Gansey, he already knew. It only took the forest to make him admit it.

The next morning, Adam tells Gansey he’ll accept the position, and for a moment it’s all worth it. Gansey’s smile of unadulterated joy, the clap of his hand on Adam’s shoulder. Ronan, too, with a light in his eyes that Adam didn’t quite expect - but maybe he should have.

This is exactly what he wants.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they all go to a tourney and Ronan does something stupid.

Summer comes, and the end of the year at the Academy. The noble sons depart to their breezy villas along the coast, their family’s summer estates in the country. Adam stays in the city, at the dormitory, studying.

There are others who do so as well. There are few formal classes in the summer, but students can work on self-study, and Adam does. There’s always more he needs to learn, things he was unable to learn at home that he needs to catch up on and things that will serve him well in the future. He works more as well, at the library and on the docks, picking up another job in the stables of a rather well-off inn by the edge of the city. He studies with Persephone too, immersing himself in the world of tarot cards and scrying bowls, candles and a distant wind in his ears.

He can’t go home. He might as well make use of the time. He needs to be prepared if he’s going to become Gansey’s advisor.

It’s lonely, though. Gansey has duties, appearances to make at diplomatic functions, things to learn. Ronan has less pressing duties, but still disappears regularly, racing or fighting or simply not wanting to be around anybody. Without the pull of daily classes and schedules to keep them near each other, they don’t spend nearly as much time together.

Which doesn’t mean they spend none. That might be what surprises Adam the most, that these newly formed friendships of his don’t simply dissolve when Ronan and Gansey aren’t stuck with him all the time. They see each other less, but Gansey finds time to join Adam at the library, they all take meals together occasionally, and Ronan even makes a point of announcing - to no one in particular, of course - that he’ll still be practicing regularly at the Academy over the summer, and if anybody gets bored they can drop by.

Adam does. He’s grown rather fond of watching Ronan practice. It’s one of the few times he truly seems focused, intent, serious.

So they see each other, their friendship remains strong. It’s a wonder, at least to Adam, who has never had true friends before. It’s more than he would have expected or asked for. He could not ask for more.

But he gets more. One day, as the three of them are eating lunch together, a break between two of Adam’s jobs, Gansey looks between Adam and Ronan and straightens. Adam is instantly aware he’s trying to bring up something he’s been thinking about for awhile - he’s grown used to the way Gansey furrows his brow, takes a careful breath.

“Adam,” he says, and Adam is not sure whether to be uneasy or excited, “there’s to be a tourney held by Lord Wellbrandt next week. My father has asked me to attend, and Ronan will be coming as well. We’d like you to join us, if you could.”

It’s not something Adam has really considered before, so focused on his studies, on his future. But tournaments of some kind are not an irregular event - they’re put on by lords to celebrate important events, birthdays, weddings, their child reaching the age of majority. Really, they’re an excuse to show off the lord’s wealth and influence, impress their fellows, form political bonds and find spouses for unmarried children.

Adam’s never been to one, of course. He’s never even imagined it.

Gansey explains that it will only be for a few days, that work and his studies can spare him, that it will give him a taste of what the position of advisor will have in store for him. Ronan says it’ll be boring but that he fully plans to enter, and win, some of the contests. Though not a knight yet, there are plenty designed for nobly-born sons not yet knighted and strong warriors without the lineage or patrons to be a knight.

Adam surprises himself by agreeing without much of a fight. Gansey is delighted.

It makes sense, though. He’ll be there as Gansey’s guest, and the others will see him as such. His first steps into the political arena, his first real outing among the nobility outside of the Academy. Better this than to have it happen when he takes up his position at Gansey’s right hand. Better to dip his toes in rather than jump in headfirst.

Also, it sounds sort of fun.

They travel there in a style that Adam is uncomfortable with, though he knows he’ll have to get used to it. The king is not attending, but the heir is, so there is a train of retainers - guards, servants, the knights and ladies of the court, _their_ servants. Far too many people. Adam watches carefully to see how it is all organized, speaks to the servants, learns his way around everything. It’s not so difficult as he feared, though he still is uncomfortable speaking to Gansey’s colleagues, the lords and ladies. He is sure they must see him for what he is, a poor peasant boy, but none of them say anything.

As he owns no mount of his own, he rides in Gansey’s carriage, peering out at the countryside as Gansey expounds upon his latest historical interest. Ronan is riding, because of course he is, but he reins his horse - a lovely, expensive beast - in next to the carriage regularly to nod hello and offer a stinging comment or two. The trip is not long. Lord Wellbrandt’s lands are not so far from the capital, though they are not particularly rich and he is not a particularly powerful man. Likely the reason Gansey is attending rather than his father, Adam thinks, taking note of the careful diplomacy inherent in the choice.

They’re given rooms - Gansey’s the finest, of course, but as his guest Adam is placed well also, and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed anywhere so nice. He tries not to let it overwhelm him. He needs to get used to this. Gansey is comfortable in these surroundings, easy and charismatic.

Ronan isn’t.

Adam doesn’t notice immediately, distracted as he is by his own discomfort. When he does, he’s torn between concern and annoyance. Ronan is acting out, playing the fool. The first night they’re there, before the tourney begins, he gets so drunk he nearly wanders into the river. The next day he’s snappish, angry. Hungover, yes, but something else is going on too.

He mentions it to Gansey in an annoyed aside, and Gansey is quiet for a moment. Then he says, reluctantly, “well, it is nearly the anniversary.”

They don’t speak of Lord Niall Lynch’s death. Not before then, and not then either, but Adam knows it happened. He is remorseful, then, at his own judgement. Niall Lynch died two years before, killed in an awful accident, and it destroyed his family. After the accident, Ronan’s mother became gravely ill and has still not recovered. His older brother took control of the family, sent Ronan to the Academy. His younger brother is the only one who seems untouched by the tragedy.

Adam is remorseful, but more concerned than ever. Perhaps Gansey attending this tourney and bringing Ronan along was an attempt to distract him, but a distraction such as this could be dangerous, both politically and physically, for both Ronan and Gansey. And Adam himself, he supposes, but he has no political power to destroy.

He fears that something terrible will happen, and he’s not sure whether it’s his natural caution or the forest speaking to him. 

Whatever it is, it’s correct.

Adam watches the tournament from the royal booth, with Gansey and Lord Wellbrandt and other assorted nobles. It is strange, uncomfortable, awkward to be in the presence of people who could buy and sell him twenty times over, who have never even dreamed of worrying where their next meal might come from. Still, though he can’t hold a candle to Gansey, who charms others like he’s been born to it, he thinks he comports himself well enough.

Though Gansey offered to outfit him, he wouldn’t allow it, and so Adam spent much of his accumulated savings on clothing befitting of the occasion. Secondhand, but still fine quality, any tears mended, any stains hidden. He gets a few calculating looks from nobles who are jockeying for position, hoping to catch the heir’s eye, but mostly this is a low-stakes event, particularly since they don’t yet know he’s to be a part of Gansey’s court. Likely they think Gansey is simply taking pity on a poor acquaintance. It bothers Adam, stings his pride, but he has to bow to practicality and admit that it’s better to start out like this, without the nobles seeing him as real competition, until he can get a real feel of the politics of court.

They watch the jousting, which Ronan cannot enter due to not yet reaching knighthood. Adam doesn’t know where Ronan is - he doesn’t join them in the royal booth. It doesn’t start to concern him until the day begins to wear on, until he sees Gansey’s surreptitious glances. Then he begins to look as well, wondering where Ronan might be, what he might be doing. If he’s all right.

Then the warriors take the field for the melee, and their questions are answered.

It’s a free-for-all. There is no live steel allowed, but dulled weapons are dangerous enough on their own, and injuries are common. Deaths are not unheard of. Adam is confident in Ronan’s skill, and if he had been asked before the tournament, he would have laughed at the idea that he might be worried in any way.

But when he sees Ronan, when he realizes that Ronan is stinking drunk, it’s no longer laughable.

The first thing he feels is anger. How could Ronan be so stupid? He’ll get himself killed, maimed, there’s no way he’ll make it out of this safely. How could he do this to himself? As good a fighter as he might be, he can’t win against a field full of sober opponents.

Then he thinks about Gansey’s worried eyes when he said _well, it’s nearly the anniversary_ , and Adam’s anger shades into worry.

He’s still angry, certainly. He always seems to have more than enough anger, always seems to have to swallow it down and lock it away so he won’t hurt anyone. But the worry outweighs it, because it seems so clear.

How could Ronan be so stupid? Because he wants to get hurt.

He’s always done dangerous, foolish things, he’s always flirted with the possibility of death. Sometimes Adam has wondered if he’s seeking it, but he never seriously considered the possibility, attributing it to foolishness instead. He’s reconsidering now.

Gansey is caught up in conversation with a older lord. He doesn’t see. Adam tries to catch his eye, fails. Though it’s the height of rudeness and will not reflect well on him, Adam interrupts without even considering that.

He clutches Gansey’s arm, pulls him away, whispers frantically, “You have to stop this.”

Gansey doesn’t understand at first, not until he catches sight of Ronan on the field. That distinct unsteadiness to his steps, the lazy grin on his face. Gansey stills, then, and his eyes are immediately worried. Frightened, even. He turns to find the lord of the tournament, to tell him to hold off on beginning the melee, but it’s too late. The horn blows. The battle begins.

Even in this state, Ronan is good at what he does. Adam has watched him practice often enough now to have learned more about what good swordsmanship is, what it should look like. Even drunk, Ronan’s form is decent, his swings are calculated. But it’s nothing like him when he’s sober, and it’s nowhere near good enough to win. He seems totally unconcerned with his own safety.

Adam clutches the railing of the royal box, sending Gansey a desperate look. Gansey is politely arguing with Lord Wellbrandt, and Adam can hear the gist of it from where he is. The lord claims he’s unable to stop the melee now, while Gansey insists on it. Adam thinks he isn’t lying - the warriors are intent on one another, the fray is thick. It resembles a real battle, or what he thinks one would look like. It’s ridiculous to think someone could simply wade in and stop it.

While they argue, he has eyes only for Ronan. He only briefly entertains the thought of trying to retrieve Ronan himself - that would clearly be impossible. Adam would only be putting himself in danger, and he has no training at all. All he can do is watch.

And he does. He watches while Gansey’s arguing grows more impassioned, while he finally breaks away to send his guards out to retrieve Ronan. He watches while Ronan fights, sword in his hand and sharp death’s grin on his face. He watches, and so he sees when Ronan falls. He sees blood. For a moment, he can’t breathe.

The melee doesn’t stop. But Ronan is pulled from the fray, sent to the healer’s tent. Gansey and Adam leave without discussing it with each other, without giving the lord their apologies. They nearly run, making their way to the tent, but they are met outside by one of the healers.

He is calm and professional, his manner serving to calm Gansey as well. Adam still feels as if he’s about to shatter into pieces, but he hides it as well as he can, because the intensity of the emotion startles him. Ronan is his friend, of course. Adam has grown to care about him, regardless of how they might have begun. He doesn’t want Ronan hurt, does not want to have to bury him.

But it doesn’t feel like _enough_. It feels like there should be more of a reason, like it doesn’t make sense for him to be so very upset.

He doesn’t think about it, not when he has so many other things to think about. The healer tells them they’ll have to wait, that they are working on Ronan now, and that the situation is under control.

Adam wants to be calmed by him, but he sees the tension around the man’s eyes, sees the hard line of his spine. He’s not sure it is under control.

They wait.

Gansey paces, wringing his hands, and Adam knows he should try to calm his friend but instead he just watches. Part of him wants to pace too, wants to work off this restless energy, wants to melt the thing inside him that’s been frozen since he saw the blood on Ronan’s armor.

He doesn’t. He stands still, lets the forest envelope him. It doesn’t understand why he’s upset, but it understands that he is, and it wants to soothe him. He lets it, as much as he can, and it helps. A little.

Lord Wellbrandt comes by to offer his sympathies and to offer Gansey refreshment while he waits, and some of the other nobles do the same. Adam intercepts most of them, aware of the fragility of Gansey’s mood, wanting to do _something_ useful. He allows only Lord Wellbrandt and a servant to pass, the lord because he is their host and a servant because Gansey is in dire need of the wine he carries.

The melee is over by the time the healer exits the tent again, has been over for some time. 

“Your Highness, he is awake, and he will heal.”

Relief courses through Gansey, clear in the way his shoulders slump, the shuddering sigh that wracks his body. Adam feels a similar relief, a sudden weakening of his knees that brings home to him just how worried he was. Despite the forest, despite handling Gansey’s courtiers, there’s some part of him that has been on edge the whole time. Afraid that when the healer stepped out, it would be to tell them Ronan was gone.

“Thank you,” Gansey says, and listens to the healer’s explanation. Only his eyes are wide and faintly glassy, and Adam doesn’t think he’s going to remember any of it, so he listens instead.

Ronan was injured badly, but will recover, and with care he should sustain no long-term damage beyond scarring. It could be worse, it could have been so much worse. Even so, the healer is careful to be clear about the fact that he could easily have died.

There is disapproval leaking into his carefully controlled voice, and can Adam blame him? Ronan did this to himself. Ronan made a choice to go onto the battlefield so sodden with drink he could barely see straight. It’s only luck and the skills of the healers that kept him alive and well.

“May I see him?” Gansey asks, and the healer can say nothing but yes. He is the prince, after all, and for a moment Adam is desperately grateful for that fact. He knows that he would never be allowed into the healer’s tent alone, but he enters on Gansey’s heels and no one tries to stop him.

He hangs back once they’re inside. Gansey and Ronan have been friends for longer than either of them have known Adam. Though he has yet to meet Ronan’s brothers, he has a hard time imagining that they could be as brotherly as Gansey is. Adam can’t stand in the middle of that and doesn’t want to.

He just wants to see with his own eyes that Ronan is alive.

Ronan is laying in the healer’s cot, swathed in bandages. To Adam’s untrained eye, it looks like the blade, dulled but still dangerous, hit him in the shoulder and carved a line down his left arm. He’s lucky to have kept it, if what the healer said is true, lucky it wasn’t any sharper and lucky it didn’t cut more deeply.

The bandages are clean, but Adam can see bloody rags discarded in a nearby barrel. It wasn’t a neat wound, it wasn’t an easy thing.

It could have killed him.

Gansey says that in no uncertain terms, and Ronan, awake and mostly sober by now, just scowls. Gansey says a lot of other things too, and most of them are things Adam agrees with. Ronan is throwing his life away, his potential. Ronan can’t let his loss destroy him. Ronan has to think of people besides himself.

It’s not the words that make a difference, Adam thinks. It’s how upset Gansey clearly is, how close to tears when he says “we thought we’d lost you.”

Adam doesn’t contradict him. He thought that too. The blood, how suddenly Ronan fell - Adam, more than many, knows how much damage a human body can take and still survive. But that’s not always how it is.

They could have lost him.

Gansey winds down eventually, tiring himself out more than running out of things to say. Ronan still hasn’t said anything, but his sullen scowl has softened almost imperceptibly. He mutters something like an apology, and Adam looks away so that he can pretend he didn’t hear. Ronan wouldn’t want him to, he thinks.

They’re interrupted by a servant coming to fetch Gansey. He’s been gone for too long, the nobles are growing restless. He doesn’t want to leave, but Ronan doesn’t ask him to stay, and Adam thinks it’s for the best. Gansey needs something to distract him, to calm him down, to take his mind off the problem of Ronan Lynch.

As he passes Adam, he murmurs, “Stay with him.”

Adam nods. He never intended to do anything else.

Once Gansey is gone, Adam collects a pitcher of water and a goblet, filling it and bringing it to Ronan. He says nothing, taking the seat that Gansey just vacated.

Ronan is silent, and Adam doesn’t break the silence. Ronan does that himself, finally, with a scowl and a snapped, “Well?”

“Well what?” Adam says.

“It’s your turn to yell at me. Get going, I need some rest when you’re done.” Ronan’s careless snarl is a vast change from his reluctant apology to Gansey, but Adam can’t say he expected anything else.

“I could,” he says. He could. He _is_ angry. Angry that Ronan was born into wealth and privilege and wants to piss it all away, angry that he’s letting it get the better of him. Angry that he could be something so easily, but instead he almost gets himself killed.

But what can he say that Gansey didn’t, and what right would he have?

Ronan lost his father, who loved him. His mother, who he loved.

Adam doesn’t even know what it feels like to have parents who love you. How can he know what it feels like to lose them?

So he’s angry, but he knows it’s pointless to vent it on Ronan. They bicker, they’ve had some pretty intense fights, but right now, right here, it’s not worth it. He doesn’t want to, anyway. Not really.

He shrugs and pours himself some water. “Just don’t get yourself killed. Gansey needs you.”

“He’s got you,” Ronan snaps, and Adam’s eyes narrow.

“You and I are nothing alike,” Adam says. “I can’t be what you are to him.”

Ronan glares at him, and Adam thinks he’s going to say something awful, but instead he says, “I wasn’t trying to get myself killed.” His tone is combative and angry, almost snarling, but it makes Adam pause for a moment.

“You weren’t trying not to, either,” he says finally. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t think it’s possible for him to, when he’s always tried so hard to survive. How do you stop caring? Or - no, that’s not right. Ronan still does care, or he’d already be gone.

Gansey wants to fix him, somehow. He wants to find the missing piece that will put Ronan back together. Adam doesn’t think it works like that. Adam thinks that if anyone needs to find the missing piece - if there is a missing piece to find - if anyone _can_ find it, Ronan is the only one.

“Fuck you,” Ronan says, but he sounds about as tired as Adam feels, the fight seeping out of him.

“Don’t be such a dick,” Adam says in return, a bit of sharpness returning to his voice. If anything, that seems to reassure Ronan, and he lets out a long sigh, rolling his eyes. He seems more like himself, less silent, less distant. Like someone Adam could actually talk to.

He’s not very good at that sort of thing, though. He picks his words carefully, not wanting to destroy this careful balance. At the same time, though, he does want to destroy it, tear it apart, shake Ronan until he snaps out of his stupid self-destructive spiral.

He doesn’t. He doubts he’d be able to, even if he really wanted to.

“Why now?” he asks, finally.

Ronan shrugs, then hisses in pain as his arm moves, but shoots Adam a glare before he can say anything else. “What, you don’t think this shit is boring as hell? Smiling at all the right people and making Gansey look good? Hell, at least I get to hit people. I don’t know why _you_ aren’t the one drinking.”

Adam knows that isn’t it. He knows there’s more to it than that. But can he push? Can he try to draw the truth out of Ronan, or will it only make things worse, will it end in an explosion that wounds both of them?

Before he can decide, Ronan decides for him. He sighs, like Adam has asked an incredibly dull question, but his eyes are trained on the corner of the healer’s tent, steadfastly not on Adam.

“Got a letter from my brother.”

Adam knows little about Ronan’s brothers beyond his dislike for Declan and his unconditional love for Matthew, beyond what little Gansey has said of them. If he’s unhappy about a letter, it’s surely from Declan. He stays silent, because he’s certain if he says anything Ronan will stop talking.

“The council is enforcing my father’s will. None of us are allowed to return home and receive our inheritance until we’re all of age and have proved ourselves to be men who will carry on the family name with honor.”

It takes Adam a moment to put together everything he knows about Ronan’s family, everything he knows about the noble families of the kingdom, to figure out what that means. With Lord Lynch dead, his wife too unwell to manage their holdings, a council was appointed to hold everything in trust until the heir - Declan - is able to take over. Though Declan is of age, as Ronan will be soon, he’s away in the neighboring kingdom, studying, and the council still rules. It is their right to enforce a provision of Niall Lynch’s will, though from the way Ronan phrases it it sounds as though he was fighting that.

He doesn’t understand, though. His brow furrows.

“They can’t keep you from returning to your family’s lands. That’s insane.”

The Lynch family, though the members have rarely been politically active, is rich and influential. There are a number of lesser nobles whose lands are under their influence, as well as their own holdings. It just doesn’t make sense that they would - or could - ban Ronan and his brothers from returning.

But Ronan is shaking his head, lips tight.

“Not everything. Just home.”

And then it makes more sense. Because Ronan rarely speaks of it, but Adam knows that he and his brothers were raised not in the largest city and castle of the Lynch holdings, but at their country estate, a beautiful place said to be rural and wild, all rolling hills and meadows, farmers and shepherds. He also knows that this was to be Ronan’s inheritance, when he came of age, but now -

“It’s Declan,” Ronan says, and his lip curls. “This ‘men of honor’ bullshit. He’s trying to put me on a leash because he’s a dickhead.”

Adam wonders if it’s not because he’s worried about Ronan, but he’s never met Declan. He has no idea. “What does it mean?” 

“You know. Don’t pretend you don’t, genius. He wants me to be just like him, bowing and scraping to all the nobles. No horses, no fighting outside the practice ring. No drinking. Nothing. He listed it all in his letter. Class, practice, and making myself a good little noble son are all I’m supposed to be doing.”

“What will you possibly do with your free time?” Adam says, voice laced with irony. Ronan levels a look at him, unamused, though he doesn’t look angry, either. Adam meets it, and his next words are a little stronger, a little more serious. “So you decided the best thing to do was get drunk and almost get yourself killed.”

“Not on purpose,” Ronan says, scowling now. “I just - fuck, Parrish. I can’t be that. I can’t be _him_ and I don’t fucking want to be. But now it’s the only way I can ever go home.”

He’s making an effort to keep his voice harsh, angry, but Adam hears the hollowness below the anger.

Of course Ronan drank. Of course he did something stupid. He was already mired in his grief over his father, and then he was confronted with this, the knowledge that unless he changes himself completely, he can never go home again.

It was still stupid. Adam is still angry about it. But he thinks he understands.

“Did you tell Gansey?” he asks, though he thinks he already knows the answer.

“Course not. Gansey thinks I need to get my shit together too, and anyway he’s got his own stuff to deal with.” Ronan’s jaw is tight, and he’s gone back to looking away from Adam, but Adam isn’t bothered. His mind is working, his thoughts focusing, the way they always do when he has a problem he needs to solve.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says, finally, and then Ronan looks at him, confused and wary. “There’ll be a way to renegotiate this, bargain the terms down, or at least make them clearer and more achievable. I can work on it - I think I’ve read about a few inheritance clauses like that before. But in return, you have to… you can’t do this anymore.” 

Adam is the one who looks away now, because he’s not sure how he’s feeling and he doesn’t want to show it. He thinks of Ronan, bloody on the melee ground, falling. Drunk in a back alley, the sharp glint of a knife. All the other times that Adam doesn’t know about, couldn’t do anything about. All the times he’s survived thanks mostly to luck.

“No more drinking until you can barely stand and then picking up a sword. No more fights with strangers in dark alleys. Drink if you want, fight if you want, but try to have some moderation. If you keep doing things that’ll get you killed, I won’t help you. I’m not going to waste my time on a man who’s already dead.”

His words are harsh, but he doesn’t think Ronan will take this seriously if they aren’t. Still, it takes an effort to raise his eyes, look at Ronan. The expression on his face is complicated. Adam can’t read it.

“Why the fuck would you do that at all?” Ronan asks, blunt and raw. Adam doesn’t think he’s asking about the renegotiation. He’s asking about his half of the deal, the half where Adam asks him to stay safe, to stay alive.

There are a lot of things he could say, some of them true. They are friends, after all. Isn’t it obvious that Adam wants him alive and well? And for Gansey’s sake as well, their mutual best friend and prince. He needs Ronan too. Ronan has so much ahead of him, if only he can pull himself out of his spiral.

Those things are all true, and they would be a satisfactory reason. But Adam gives Ronan a secret instead, something he would never admit to anyone else. It’s a split-second decision, one that even he doesn’t quite understand.

“I don’t want to do this without you.”

This. Being Gansey’s advisor, stepping into the world of nobility and royalty, so far beyond Adam’s station. He didn’t realize it, not until he was faced with the prospect of Ronan being gone, but it’s true. Adam is strong, Adam can do this alone if he needs to, Adam can stand at Gansey’s side and do his job. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to know that he isn’t alone, that there’s at least one person in the royal palace besides Gansey who likes him, who thinks he deserves to be where he is, who will back him up if it comes down to that. Someone he can trust. Someone who will curl his lip at noble airs and mock them behind their backs - or to their faces - and make it easier for Adam to get through each day under their disapproving looks, their superior smiles when his accent slips.

This tournament has made it clear to him. It isn’t difficult, exactly, and no one is openly rude to him, not while he’s at Gansey’s side. But he sees the way they look at him, the soft whispers. He is keenly aware he does not belong. Gansey doesn’t understand, he’s born to this, he has the look and the manner. He might love ancient books and curious stories more than trade disputes and marriage contracts, but it’s still easy for him. It’s second nature - saying the right thing, doing the right thing, accepting their respect as something he’s due rather than something he must earn.

It’s not like that for Adam. It’s not like that for Ronan, either.

Ronan is looking at him. Adam can feel the weight of his gaze, and when he finally raises his eyes to meet Ronan’s, he’s not sure what he’s seeing in them. He never knows what Ronan sees when he looks at Adam, except that he knows it isn’t something he dislikes anymore, he knows they’re past that. But it’s _something_ , and Adam feels strangely bare under Ronan’s gaze. So focused, like Adam is the only thing in the tent - in the world, maybe, in that moment - worth looking at.

Then he looks away, and Adam can breathe again.

“Deal,” Ronan says, as if he’s forcing the word out, voice tight.

Adam’s shoulders relax. He didn’t even realize he was tense.

It does get better after that.

Not immediately - the rest of the tournament is uncomfortable and difficult, with Gansey and Ronan both tense and angry, and Adam no better. But they return to the capital, and Ronan recovers. Adam didn’t know what to expect, but - things do get better.

He won’t take credit for that. He thinks it was less his words and more Gansey’s distress and Ronan’s brush with death, but Ronan seems… well, not fixed, but like he’s trying. He still fights occasionally, still drinks occasionally, but he walks away from most of the racing, the time he spent with the more dissolute students of the Academy - never his friends, he never seemed to like them or had a good word to say about them, but they were convenient sources of the kind of trouble he was looking for. He still doesn’t like his classes, but he renews his focus on training, on preparing himself for his future as Gansey’s knight-captain. Adam does what he can as well, stepping in to lend Ronan his notes or his time. With Gansey’s help, they drag him through their final year at the Academy.

Adam should be resentful, and he is, sometimes. Ronan takes up time that he shouldn’t be able to spare, time that should be spent on his own studies or his jobs or practicing with Persephone. And sometimes it bothers him, sometimes he helps Ronan only with ill grace. They clash, they argue, Adam silently vows to never help again.

But he never sticks to it. Ronan always seems to make up for it in his own unconventional way - dragging Adam out of the library on the first sunny day of spring to remind him there’s more out there, backing him up with blithe disinterest when other noble boys take issue with Adam’s presence, providing a casual contrast to Gansey’s sometimes overbearing care.

Gansey spends more time at the palace this year, but they still have time together. The three of them explore the city, pursue Gansey’s interests. Adam brings them all to Persephone’s, and Ronan clashes with Blue instantly. Before long she’s accompanying them, leaving Gansey speechless regularly with rather pointed comments on the unfairness of women not being allowed at the Academy and how if the kingdom was an equal place Princess Helen would be the heir.

Privately, Adam tends to agree with her, but he avoids the arguments himself and simply enjoys the effect she has on Gansey. Ronan warms to her eventually, in his own rude way.

Gansey chooses his close friends carefully but with utter loyalty and a keen grasp of human nature, and though Adam is nowhere near as open with people, he finds that he trusts Gansey’s opinion. Ronan seems to agree, though it always takes him longer, like it did with Adam. He doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like these additions that temporarily destabilize their orbit of three - or four, or five. But he always gives in in the end, and before Adam knows it, he has more friends than he’d ever expected to have.

Blue, of course, fierce and pretty, Maura’s daughter. She has a passion for travel, a desire to grasp onto her future with her own hands, and little care for society’s norms. Adam thinks that something could have happened between them, once, if he’d reached for it, but he didn’t and now he’s quite certain of what he sees when she and Gansey look at each other. He likes it - Gansey needs someone who can challenge him. But Gansey is the prince, and will be betrothed in a political alliance one day, and - well, it isn’t his problem, but he worries for both of them.

But not just Blue. In their second year, Gansey pulls Noah Czerny into his orbit as well. Carefree and kind, he is from a family not as noble as the Lynches but in possession of excellent vineyards that have given them wealth. He is energetic and open, and he and Ronan manage to get into trouble that Adam would not have imagined but that is, at least, far less dangerous than Ronan’s former brand of trouble.

Gansey befriends Henry Cheng as well, the son of a foreign diplomat, clever and observant. Adam does not trust him at first, but he’s unable to deny that Henry seems to understand Gansey better than most, certainly better than the usual nobles that try to flock to him.

It’s then that Adam realizes Gansey is forming his court. His inner circle - Adam and Ronan, meant to be advisor and knight-captain, Noah, who is perfectly suited to feasts and balls and winning support, and Henry, who can make alliances and move easily among different worlds. Blue has no interest in court, but she provides a grounding influence, a reminder that the world doesn’t run solely on nobles making decisions in hidden rooms.

Adam doesn’t know if Gansey did it on purpose or if it was intentional from the beginning, but as they reach the end of their time at the Academy he can see how clever it was. Gansey has won them all. They all put their loyalty to him before nearly anything, and they are all poised for futures at his side, helping him run the kingdom - but differently than his father did, that’s for certain. None of them are what one would expect from an heir’s inner circle, none of them are what a future king _should_ choose.

But Adam thinks it works. It _will_ work. They can change things here, help Gansey govern with kindness and strength.

And none of them will be alone. Each of them should have been, he knows, they should all have had difficulty forming connections and finding support. But Gansey has drawn them together, and now they are unbreakable.

He worries about Ronan still, sometimes, but Ronan has kept his end of their deal, and Adam has done everything he can as well. He’ll have that, if nothing else, and it is a comfort.

They leave the Academy. At twenty, they are all now considered to be of age - with means nothing to Adam, who has nothing to inherit, and little to Ronan, who won’t inherit until Matthew also reaches twenty. But for Gansey, that means formally taking his place as his father’s heir. 

Adam swears fealty to him in front of a crowded chamber of distrustful nobles, then watches as Ronan does the same. Their eyes meet after, and Adam feels like Ronan is the one steady thing in that room, the one thing he can trust.

His life is changing, has changed in that instant, but he has this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam struggles with his new position.

Standing at the left hand of a prince is not easy.

Adam didn’t expect it to be. He’s no fool, he knows the chambers of the elite are not a natural place for someone like him, and his association with Gansey for the past two years has taught him that the nobles are quite aware of that as well. He knew it would be difficult, just as he knew he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

And that is really the main thing keeping him sane.

Gansey has formally ascended to his place as crown prince, as future king. It was always inevitable, but the formalities must be attended to. Adam thinks it’s all just an excuse for a celebration, for political maneuvers over lavish feasts, quiet deals in the stands at the tourney.

Because there are feasts. There will be a tourney. And Adam, having sworn his service to Crown Prince Richard III, must attend everything.

That means polite conversation. It means hiding his accent, it means ignoring veiled insults and finding a way to injure subtly in return, to reassert his place and his power. It means choosing his attire carefully, ignoring the leaves that sometimes curl in the edges of his vision, always being sure to know where Gansey is in the room.

His physical safety isn’t Adam’s responsibility - that belongs to the guards, and to Ronan, who has stepped into his own position as Gansey’s knight-captain. While he is still training, he only has responsibility for Gansey’s personal guard, but someday he’ll command the defenses of the palace. Adam still can’t quite imagine that, not the Ronan he knows, who drinks and fights, who has a darkness to him.

But Ronan is more stable now. Adam may not be able to imagine it, but he does think that Ronan can do it. Gansey’s safety should be enough of a motivation for him to do his duties well, even if he still drinks too much and has no interest in social niceties.

Adam envies him that, a bit.

They have both attended every feast and celebration marking Gansey’s ascendence, and on this night there is another. Multiple courses, exotic delicacies, all provided by one of the richer nobles intending to impress the prince, to woo him. To get in his good graces. They each have their own schemes, Adam knows - this one, he believes, has his eye on a trade route that’s been monopolized by a rival family. He and Gansey discussed it before the feast, discussed Gansey’s options, settled on a compromise supported by careful research and information-gathering. That’s Adam’s job now, after all.

Ronan guards Gansey’s safety, Adam provides him with counsel. They all try to keep each other sane.

It’s easy for Gansey at feasts like these. He’s grown up attending them, always having a clever anecdote or a smooth compliment for anyone who might speak to him. He might not love them, but they’re second nature to him. It is not so easy for Adam, but he’s learning.

He sits at the table, eating careful bites of his meal. He isn’t yet used to eating like this - the Academy dining hall food was not cheaply made, but tended toward simplicity, a necessity when feeding a school full of young men. And of course, Adam never had any reason to consume fine cuisine on his own. Even if he’d had the money for it, he’s always been far too practical to waste it on food, of all things.

Now he’s going to have to get used to this. To the lavishness of it, the wasted money and wasted food. He’s already tried to subtly suggest to the hosts of previous feasts that leftover food could be distributed to the poor rather than squandered, that Gansey would be pleased by that. And he does think that Gansey _would_ , if he thought about it. Which he won’t unless Adam mentions it, which Adam only intends to do if their hosts ever seem resistant.

It’s a small thing, but it soothes his conscience a little. It makes it easier to eat this food when he knows it isn’t entirely a waste.

He takes a small bite of honey-glazed ham, sweet and rich, and surveys the hall.

The nobles are circulating, and their power with them. Those with more power move less, people coming to them instead of the other way around. Gansey, if he chose, could simply relax and be flattered and waited on all night, but he is rarely content with that. He likes to circulate, to speak to lesser nobles as if they were equals and greater ones as if they were respected friends. It’s a princely thing, Adam thinks, for a princely man. Gansey was born for this.

Currently, Gansey is regaling an older gentlemen with a story from their Academy days, a light tale of boyish adventures. Adam notices he’s leaving out the part where Ronan nearly came to blows with a city guard, and the part where Adam lied terribly to that same guard to get them out of trouble. It makes the story much less consequential, which is for the best. Everyone around is charmed, and Adam smiles to himself. If only it were that easy for him.

Of course, these days Adam has power and influence of his own, simply for having the ear of the heir. The moment he stands from his seat, an older noblewoman approaches with artful conversation and, he is sure, ulterior motives. They always want something, even if that something is only to get in Adam’s good graces for future plans they might make.

But none of them quite know what to do with him. And is that such a surprise? He wasn’t born a noble. He isn’t so easily charmed.

And more than that, many of them - perhaps most of them - don’t think he should be there. He can see it in their eyes when they look at him.

It was like this at the Academy too, but rather different. More open insults there, since he was not yet the prince’s advisor and the noble sons were not yet skilled in veiled insults. More outright snubs, less condescension. As if Gansey’s appointment of Adam as advisor was either pity or foolishness, but certainly not a wise choice.

It sets Adam’s teeth on edge. He feels that he must prove himself over and over again, prove that he belongs there, when the truth is he isn’t sure that he does.

The noblewoman comments on the wine, then laughs and apologizes because of course there’s no way Adam could know what a rare vintage this is. He didn’t, actually, he knows nothing about wine and still rarely drinks, but her condescending assumption makes his stomach twist. He smiles, though he doesn’t think it looks particularly genuine, and says something polite. In his ears, he hears the wind through tree branches. The room is too hot, too crowded. How is he supposed to keep doing this? There is another week of feasts, then a tourney, all of it crowded with nobles looking down their noses at him. How is he supposed to survive this?

“Tastes like shit for something so expensive,” Ronan says, his voice cutting and careless, and Adam has no idea where he came from, but suddenly he’s there. The noblewoman looks shocked, then carefully schools her expression into a laugh, though Adam can see she is offended.

But that’s Ronan Lynch. He’s never cared about offending anyone, has in fact made it one of his primary hobbies, and in that moment Adam can feel nothing but grateful.

Ronan grins at the woman, baring his teeth, looking more like a wolf than the tame dog he’s supposed to be. She pales, just a bit, and makes her excuses to leave.

“They’re all going to hate you,” Adam says. It’s still too hot, too crowded, but he feels like he can breathe again, here in the space Ronan has carved for them.

“Fine by me,” Ronan says, “I don’t give a shit.”

And really, he doesn’t have to. If anything, intimidating others is part of his duties as Gansey’s knight. He doesn’t need to play the political games if he doesn’t want to, not the way Gansey does. Not the way Adam does.

In that moment, Adam is a little jealous, for all that he has no desire for Ronan’s position.

“How nice for you,” he says, trying to keep his voice wry but aware it’s tight, tense. 

Ronan glances at him, brow furrowing for just a moment. “Fuck, you don’t have to give a shit either, Parrish.”

Adam sighs, shaking his head. He knows that Ronan doesn’t understand, _can’t_ really understand. “I don’t care if they like me, but I need them to respect me.”

How can he do this job if they don’t? How can he be effective as Gansey’s advisor if the nobles all look down their noses at him? He can’t be charming like Gansey, he can’t be intimidating like Ronan. He can’t match Noah’s energetic friendliness or Henry’s easy political maneuvering. He can see them now if he looks, among the courtiers at the feast, Noah entertaining a crowd of young nobles and Henry deep in clever conversation with the lord who leads the trade guild. None of them need to worry about this the way he does.

“Come on,” Ronan says abruptly, and Adam turns to look at him, confused. He shrugs his shoulders impatiently. “I need some fucking air. You coming?”

Adam probably shouldn’t, but he vividly remembers just a moment ago - the room pressing in on him, the heat and noise stifling, even the forest sensing his distress and reaching out for him.

He goes with Ronan.

They slip out of the hall easily enough, their absence unlikely to be remarked upon. Gansey is the centerpiece here, they’re merely side attractions. Adam feels bad, a little, but he needs air, he needs space.

He follows Ronan through the halls of the royal palace. Adam doesn’t know his way yet, has only just moved into the suite of rooms provided for him. It’s too much, though he’d specifically told Gansey he didn’t want anything fancy. Even ‘not fancy’ in a royal palace is more than Adam has ever had before. His bedchamber is as large as his father’s entire shack, and he has a bathroom, a study, and an antechamber as well. Adam doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know what to do with anything here.

But Ronan knows his way around. He has his own suite now too, but he’s stayed here before as Gansey’s friend, visiting with his father before things went bad or during Academy breaks. He’s used to this, it’s familiar. He leads Adam through twisting hallways hung with banners, servants slipping past them now and then. Adam still feels more in common with the servants than with the nobles he left behind in the great hall.

He doesn’t ask where they’re going. By the time they get there, he’s thoroughly lost. All he can do is hope that Ronan isn’t planning to disappear, because Adam would never be able to find his way back alone.

Ronan pushes open a door set in the wall and motions Adam to follow him through. Adam steps through the door and he’s outside.

It’s early evening, the sky still colorful from the sunset, though it can’t be seen past the palace walls. The summer air is warm and it smells of green things, flowers, life. Adam breathes it in, closes his eyes for a brief moment. 

They’re in a garden. The palace has plenty of gardens, all kept in excellent shape by its team of gardeners, but Adam’s never seen this one before. It’s small, and - not wild, exactly, but kept just on this side of overgrown. Instead of carefully manicured lawns and flowers in perfect lines, the gardeners have allowed ivy to climb the walls, wildflowers to grow here and there, and the paths to be ever so slightly less than pristine. It’s a careful effect, and Adam can tell it _is_ an effect - none of this is truly wild, none of it really natural. But it’s beautiful nonetheless, and the closest thing to the forest he’s found in the entire capitol.

He moves deeper into the garden, reaching out to run his fingers over the curve of a leaf. He can practically feel its life thrumming beneath his touch.

Adam turns to look at Ronan, only to find Ronan already looking at him. For a moment he loses track of what he was going to say, distracted by some look in Ronan’s eyes, but then it’s gone and he doesn’t even know what he was looking at. Maybe it was his imagination.

“What is this place?” he says, finding his words again.

Ronan looks around, and he seems calmer too, his tightly wound energy easing in the quiet of the garden. “Used to be Gansey’s grandmother’s garden before she passed. She had a thing about natural beauty.” For a moment he seems like he isn’t going to say anything else, and the words that follow seem almost unwilling - guarded, like he’s sharing something private. “My mother used to come here when we were visiting. She loved it.”

Adam has never met Ronan’s mother, never had a chance to meet Gansey’s grandmother, but he thinks he might understand anyway. It’s a little piece of the world outside the walls - still cultivated and tended, of course, but allowed to live according to its own rules a little more freely. It brings the air back to Adam’s lungs, slows his heartbeat.

He walks further into the garden, exploring the paths, finding a hidden stream, a wooden bench tucked under the trees, a patch of soft clover. The sun is sinking lower, but there are lanterns already lit - on the off chance some of the guests wander in, Adam thinks. There’ll be the same in every other garden.

But not another soul is here, only him and Ronan. They both wander the garden, and for a long time they don’t talk. Eventually Adam settles on the bench he found before. He should go back, he knows, but he doesn’t want to yet. He wants this peace for a moment or two more.

Ronan gravitates back toward him, though he flops ungracefully on the grass by Adam’s feet instead, uncaring about stains he might leave on his fine clothing.

“Thanks,” Adam says after another long period of silence. Ronan grunts.

“Figured you needed to get out of there. I can’t stand that shit.”

“You’re in for a lot more of it, you know,” Adam says, with a slight smile.

Ronan bares his teeth, his sharp grin dangerously attractive. “They’ll get sick of talking to me. I don’t make nice like you and Dick.” He enunciates _Dick_ with a mocking click at the end, and crosses his arms behind his head, making himself casual and comfortable.

Adam wonders if he’ll ever be that comfortable in rich clothes like these. Though he knows he can get more easily, he’s still afraid of ruining them, spilling something. They don’t quite feel like his, the material too fine, the make tailored specifically for him, nothing like the secondhand clothing he wore at the Academy or the near-rags he had before. But Ronan wears them easily and well, as casual at the palace as he was in the bars down by the docks.

He’s an impossible creature, and it doesn’t bother Adam like it once did. Instead, he finds it both incredible and oddly endearing. Adam has grown immune to Ronan’s danger, his intimidating air, and instead it’s become - well. Something else. Something familiar and even somehow comforting at times, because though they may argue, Ronan has never raised a hand to him. On the contrary, he punched at least one student in their Academy days for a particularly unpleasant remark about Adam’s origins, and though they’d argued about that too - _I don’t need you to protect my honor, Lynch_ \- he hasn’t forgotten it.

“You’re probably right,” Adam says, leaning back to look up at the stars coming out one by one as the sunset fades. “You’ve got a talent for pissing people off. I should know.”

Ronan laughs like Adam has given him a fine compliment. They are silent again, both looking up at the stars. They should go back, Adam knows, for all that he’s loath to shatter this peace. They have to go back. 

He’s about to say it when Ronan speaks again.

“Think you’re gonna be happy here?”

There’s a studied casualness to his voice, a careful performance. _I don’t care what the answer is_ , it says, but Adam knows him, Adam can see his imperfect act for what it is. When he looks, Ronan is not looking at him.

“That was never the point,” Adam says, his voice quiet. The truth is, the question shakes him. The truth is, he hasn’t considered _happiness_ in years. He didn’t take Gansey’s offer thinking it would make him happy. He knew it would be hard, he would not belong, he would struggle. He didn’t come to the Academy thinking it would bring him happiness. He only wanted something better than he had, he wanted to not worry about where the next blow or the next meal would come from.

Happiness has never been a goal of Adam’s. Survival is. Success is. Protecting Gansey, helping Ronan, being there for his friends. Learning to live with his magic.

But happiness?

That was never the point.

That his happiness would matter to Ronan is also something he never considered. But then, Ronan always seems to have a new surprise for him.

“What about you?” he says, because he can’t say anything else. He knows the answer, though.

Ronan sits up, looking at him now, fierce for a moment. “I’ll be happy when I can go home.”

Adam nods. They’ve made progress - Ronan is unlikely to be disinherited, now that he’s no longer so freely seeking fights and drinking and racing, though he still indulges from time to time - but the main clause still stands. He must wait until Matthew is of age and prove himself before he’s allowed home, and all of Adam’s carefully researched arguments have only resulted in an agreement that there is no time limit on this, and that the lands will be tended according to Ronan’s wishes even if he’s unable to return to them.

It’s something, at least. They’ve both held up their ends of their bargain, and that’s all Adam wanted - Ronan, whole and intact, no longer on the edge of seeking death. But it’s not everything.

“It’ll happen,” Adam says, and chances a careful smile. “Just look at you. The crown prince’s knight, all noble and brave. It won’t be long before they accept that you’ve done all they asked.” And really, Adam thinks that is the case. Ronan may not be a model nobleman, he will never bow and scrape, he’ll never play nice. But he will protect his prince fiercely, fight like a terror, and abide by his own code of honor.

If they don’t see that, Adam will find a way to make them.

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Save that shit for Gansey’s admirers. I’m not buying it.” But there’s a slight curve to his lips, the barest hint of a smile, and Adam feels warm at the sight of it.

“Speaking of his admirers, we should get back,” he says, with some reluctance. Ronan grouses and grumbles, but gives in, levering himself up from the grass, apparently aware that there’s no way Adam will ever find his way back alone.

At the door, Adam pauses briefly for one last glance at the garden they’re leaving behind them. The spreading branches of the trees, the soft grass, the trickle of water. He breathes in, taking some comfort from it, and when he turns Ronan is looking at him again. Ronan’s eyes flicker away in an instant, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Hardly anyone comes here,” he says with not-quite-careless shrug. “You should come back sometime. Give it some attention or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Adam says, “but you’re gonna have to show me the way again.” His eyes are on the sharp curve of Ronan’s jaw, his thin lips. He looks away before he can be caught, too.

“Guess I could,” Ronan says.

They return to the feast.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam and Henry talk and Adam gains a little perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's read, commented, and kudosed! It really keeps my motivation up and it makes me so happy. The fic-writing is proceeding pretty well, and I'm excited to share it with everybody!

Adam is sick of the feasts, the parties. All the celebrations, the entire kingdom rejoicing the coming-of-age of their future king. Gansey is loved by the common folk, feted by the nobles, celebrated by all, and Adam was tired of it days ago.

He knows there will always be things like this to worry about, social events where he needs to look his best and act his part and offer Gansey counsel when needed. And that’s fine - he can do that. But this is too much, too wasteful, too pointless. He wants to stop worrying about the ulterior motives of the lords holding the banquets and start worrying about day to day life. Trade routes, foreign diplomacy, improving the lot of the peasants, strengthening the kingdom. Learning what he can about everything so that he can help with all of that.

He’d rather fill his head with the intricacies of the peace treaty between their neighboring country and the one across the sea than the names of Lady Tanquil’s three daughters and their accomplishments.

Luckily it’s almost over. The feast tonight is to kick off the tourney, held in Gansey’s name as the penultimate celebration marking his ascendance. It will only be the second tourney Adam has attended, after that first disastrous event, and the first Ronan will participate in as a full knight. After that is another feast, some dancing, and then it’s all over.

Adam is not sure he particularly enjoys tourneys, but it’ll be nice to watch Ronan joust. He’s seen him practice, his skill at handling his horse and the lance both, but he’s never seen Ronan compete before. As Gansey’s knight, he’ll have a prime place in the listings, and Adam has little doubt that he’ll comport himself well. 

Ronan might be extremely disagreeable in social situations, but few match him at the arts of war. Adam knows that due to not being knighted yet he was unable to show that before, but now that concern has been swept aside. He’ll dazzle the kingdom, most likely, and give people even more reason to respect Gansey’s court.

And then it’ll be over and they can get to work.

He smiles at one of Lady Tanquil’s daughters - Margaret, maybe? He’s completely lost the thread of the conversation, distracted by his own thoughts, and anyway it’s always difficult for him to hear when the banquet hall is so crowded and noisy. But she doesn’t seem offended or even particularly bothered that he’s not really responding, content enough to carry the conversation herself.

It takes some careful maneuvering to extricate himself, but he manages. She seems pleasant enough, if talkative, and friendlier than some of the nobles - but Adam can’t let himself be monopolized by inconsequential conversation the entire night. He has to make his rounds, make himself seen, speak to the right people and stand at Gansey’s side and make sure everyone understands that he is supposed to be there.

It seems simple. Adam knows it’s the sort of thing a lot of people, people who were born to this, wouldn’t even think about. But he does think about it, because he has to.

He circulates, rescuing Gansey from a particularly dull baron droning on about his crop rotation, listening to a minor lord’s proposal for a frankly ridiculous-sounding gambling house, making polite conversation with another noble’s daughter. 

Exhausted by the effort of socializing, Adam seizes an opportunity to fetch a cool drink and fade into the shadows on the wall for a few moments. The feast is in full swing, tables loaded with food, bards making music at one end of the hall, nobles in their finest garb making a show of themselves. Gansey is speaking to his father’s knight-captain now, Noah is charming the ancient Lady Mirton, Ronan is missing in action - not a surprise, he tends to get heartily sick of these things even faster than Adam, and he has a big day tomorrow. Henry is -

Henry is right next to him, leaning against the wall with a heavy sigh and following it up with a bright smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the dashing Sir Parrish, charmer of ladies and breaker of hearts,” he says, his faint accent adding an amusing twist to the words. Adam knows he does it on purpose, plays it up a bit for entertainment or to put people off their guard. He smiles, a quick quirk of his lips. Henry is more Gansey’s friend than his, the latest newcomer to their band before Gansey’s ascendance, but Adam still likes him more than any five of these nobles. Any ten, probably.

“I’m not a ‘sir’, and you know that,” Adam says. Some of the nobles refer to him that way, occasionally on accident but more often as a subtle snub, a reminder that he _isn’t_ a noble and doesn’t deserve the formality. Unlike many of their snubs, it doesn’t particularly bother him. Gansey offered him a title and he turned it down, and they fought over it quite fiercely for a week or two. It would have been nothing but a facade, an attempt to make him something he wasn’t, something he hadn’t earned on his own.

Besides, it’s better if they remember he isn’t really one of them.

“You’ll always be a sir in my heart,” Henry sighs, and gestures with his cup toward the feast. “Got tired of all the beautiful women throwing themselves at you?”

Adam’s brow wrinkles and he shoots Henry a look, more confused than anything. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about?” Henry looks back at him, astonished. Adam is fairly certain he’s only partially faking it. “Madelyn Tanquil, Eleanor Fordsworth, Katherine Monwell? I’m sure I’ve missed a few. You’re the hottest property on the market for a certain sort of lady, Parrish.”

Madelyn, that’s right. Not Margaret. Adam supposes there have been quite a number of young ladies hovering around tonight, but that’s not - well, it’s not _normal_ , but it’s not so very strange. Feasts like these are where many marriage contracts are made, after all, and -

Oh.

“You can’t be serious,” Adam says, voice flat. “I’m not even a noble.”

Henry’s astonished look fades into something more sympathetic for a moment, before he covers it with a smile. “But you’re the future king’s advisor. You may have no title or lands, but you’re sure to be rich before long, and your political power is more desirable than practically anyone’s. You really didn’t think you’d be seen as a marriage prospect?”

He really didn’t. Or rather, he hasn’t thought about it. Adam has been so focused on his studies, his magic, finding a future for himself, that he hasn’t thought about romance at all, and marriage even less. Oh, he was fond of Blue for awhile, but she was off-limits, and her quickly-seen admiration for Gansey settled that easily. 

Adam has no lineage, no title. No lands, little money to speak of. He has his education, his position in the court. His magic is more a detriment than a desired quality, given the kingdom’s general distrust and disbelief in magic. Is his position really enough that noble daughters would see him as appropriate marriage material?

“Oh, dear.” Henry says. “You really didn’t.”

He looks out across the milling nobles at the feast and sighs, dropping some of his careful mannerisms, becoming closer to the real Henry that Adam knows.

“It’s like this. Fair Prince Richard can be admired and flirted with, but only the most noble of nobles have any chance there. The future king can’t marry for love. His partner will be a political choice, whether she comes from within the kingdom or without. Some of the ladies will try anyway, hoping that bonds of the heart will sway him, but most are more realistic than that. Unless their families have something to offer the king in terms of alliances, trade, or wealth, their prospects are slim.”

Adam’s eyes meet Henry’s in the shadows, and he knows they’re thinking of the same thing: Blue.

He knew this already, that this was the reason Gansey and Blue have never allowed their romance to flower despite their obvious feelings for each other. Blue is far too proud to accept being a mistress, or being set aside when Gansey marries. Gansey cares for her far too much to do either of those things. But all their friends know what lies beneath that friendship, and they all know that heartbreak is inevitable even if they never admit their feelings to one another.

There’s no magical solution, no way to fix things, and so they all simply pretend it doesn’t exist, a group fiction that’s the only way to continue.

Henry takes a breath, summons a smile, and continues. “The rest of us are prime candidates, however. Young, male, and single, with political power and the ear of the future king.” 

He gestures out in Noah’s vague direction. “Czerny’s family name isn’t priceless, but he’s the heir. He’s probably the best prospect of all of us - he’s got a title and lands, and it’ll all be his someday, but he’s not of high enough status that he can’t marry pretty much whoever he wants. Plus, he’s handsome and a good person. Any mother would want her daughter to marry someone like that. We’ll give him - let’s say a 9 out of 10.”

“You’re grading us now?” Adam says, and his lips quirk.

“I am,” Henry says breezily, and continues. “Now, as for me, though I am handsome, well-spoken, and quite rich, I am from a foreign country. I don’t have a title or lands here, and frankly I don’t have many lands back home either - not that I expect everyone here knows that. My family’s wealth is in their ships, not their lands. Though I reside here now, I will one day be expected to take over from my mother. Any woman who marries me will return home with me, so while I am a fine prospect, there are downfalls. We’ll say 6 out of 10.”

“Oh, 6.5, at least,” Adam says, and Henry grins at him.

“And you, of course, rate reasonably well. No title, no lands. No money as of yet, but no one believes that will be the case for long. A reputation for startling intelligence and an appointment as the king’s advisor, meaning you’ll be one of the most powerful men in the country someday. You are polite but distant, which is catnip for the right sort of girl who’s sure she’ll be the one to melt that ice of yours. You have those pretty blue eyes and that excellent bone structure, too, which is a plus. Sort of an exotic forest creature look. Certainly a 7 out of 10, at least.”

“Two less than Noah,” Adam murmurs, but he’s not sure what to think. The image of himself through Henry’s eyes - through the eyes of the ladies of the court - is disorienting and strange. He’s also not sure what ‘exotic forest creature look’ means, or whether it’s actually a plus.

Adam has never really considered himself attractive - too thin, with an odd sort of face - but in the right light he supposes he looks all right. ‘All right’ is about as far as he would go, though, none of this nonsense Henry’s spouting.

“We can’t all be handsome young heirs,” Henry says with a shrug. “You and I are still decent catches, but it’s younger daughters from lesser families who will be interested, not any lady of higher status who might be marrying below her station.”

It alters the way Adam looks at things. Up until this moment, he has not considered marriage, has not considered that he would be thought of as a possible partner. As a desirable one, even. He is lucky, at least, that there’s no pressure - Noah and Gansey are the only two of them who will be required to marry. He has no family name to carry on, Henry is a foreigner with different customs, and Ronan is a second son. The ladies might see him as a possibility, but he doesn’t have to entertain that if he doesn’t want to.

But does he? He’s not sure. He hasn’t thought about it at all. Some of the ladies who have spoken to him are quite pretty, and some seem nice enough, though others have bordered on rudeness. He supposes that’s no surprise - he may be a prospect to some, but Henry is right. Many nobles would never allow their daughters to consider a man like him. He wonders if he’s supposed to feel flattered that some do, considering his peasant birth.

Probably he should. Probably he should be deeply flattered that even the younger daughters of poor noble families consider him marriage material. He sort of is, and that makes him uncomfortable. It’s more than would ever have been dreamed of at home, before he came to the capital, and he should be nothing but pleased.

But he isn’t. It’s not him any of them want, only what he represents to them. The power he has, the wealth he will one day have. An ugly but brutally honest corner of his mind points out that no doubt some of them are attracted simply because he is of peasant stock - lower class, with all the myths that come with that. There’s a reason some nobles have a reputation for slumming, there’s a reason there are so many ballads about ladies seduced by an earthier sort of man. Surely that comes into play for some of them when he is involved.

He smiles then, a little ruefully. It shouldn’t matter what their reasons are. He has never been a romantic, only focusing on practicality. This should be no different, he should be thinking coolly about what sort of a wife would be best, what family it would be good to ally with, how such a thing could benefit both Gansey and himself. 

He’s not, and he knows why, though he doesn’t want to put words to it. It’s only a sinking feeling in his stomach, an ache in the back of his mind. An empty space in the room.

“And Ronan?” he says, because he has to.

“Ah, yes,” Henry says, apparently unaware of any oddity in Adam’s tone or bearing. “As for our esteemed troublemaker, Sir Lynch, who has somehow disappeared from this fantastic party - well, that’s a difficult one. He has wealth, but he’s the second son, so he will never be the lord of his family’s holdings. He has lands, but as you’re quite aware, they’re held in trust, not truly his. He’s disagreeable and has a poor reputation, and he is known for being violent and crude. 5 out of 10, perhaps, when you look at it that way.” He grins then, suddenly. “But he’s handsome and dangerous, has a tragic past, and is wild in a way that makes the more fanciful types dream of being the only one to tame him. His prospects may be low, but half the ladies of the court giggle over him in private.”

Adam wonders how Henry could possibly know that, but doesn’t push his luck by asking. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“They’re on the edge of their seats waiting to see who he’ll give the flower to tomorrow.”

For a moment, Adam isn’t sure what Henry means, before he remembers. At the last tourney, and apparently at most tourneys, the winner of the jousting is given a rose to present to whichever lady he chooses. Adam was, at the time, too concerned with Ronan’s condition to pay much attention, but he thinks he remembers it being presented to the daughter of a lesser lord. She had been lovely.

It doesn’t mean anything - only something to exclaim and gossip over, really. The lady could be chosen out of affection, it could be the prelude to courting, or part of it. Or it could be a kind gesture to a sister or mother, a gift to a young girl, a bit of flattery to an older lady. Political or not, romantic or not, it’s the sort of thing that sparks plenty of talk but little actual effect. 

Ronan is a strong choice to win tomorrow. For a moment, Adam also wonders who he’ll pick, before rolling his eyes at his own foolishness.

“If they’d seen him drunk and unwashed, trying to steal Professor Milo’s horse, they’d giggle a lot less,” he says. 

“Alas, such lovely memories belong to us alone,” Henry says, grinning. He catches sight of someone across the hall, and Adam, following his gaze, sees that Noah has been cornered by Lady Mirton and her friends, a pack of wizened and far-too-canny crones seemingly intent on - well, something. Adam doesn’t know what, but Noah looks a little terrified. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe our friend needs a bit of a rescue.”

“By all means,” Adam says, “don’t let me stop you.”

Henry departs to extricate Noah from the situation he’s found himself in. Adam knows he should wade back into the fray armed with this new perspective, but he lingers, he doesn’t quite want to throw himself back in yet.

He’s thinking of Ronan.

It’s not any surprise that the ladies of the court are quite taken with him, if only from afar. Ronan is handsome, he is skilled, he is from a rich and powerful family that has been touched with tragedy.

But for some reason, it makes him angry.

They don’t know Ronan. They haven’t seen him bloody and injured in a medic’s tent, stumbling through an alley half-drunk, engrossed in his sword practice, tending his horse. They haven’t seen him doing stupidly dangerous stunts, laughing like he hasn’t a care in the world. They don’t know him. They don’t know who he is or what he’s worth, only what they want to see and what they want him to be.

The thought of Ronan marrying one of them, a beautiful young lady who would coo over his wounds and bat her eyelashes at him, is -

Well, frankly, it’s hilarious. Adam tries to imagine it and fails, only able to see the actual outcome of such a thing. Ronan’s stormy expression, his curt and undoubtedly rude dismissal. Ronan’s discomfort at the attention translating itself to anger.

Adam has never seen Ronan show any interest in a woman. He would be shocked to see it, truly. He doesn’t think Ronan has any interest in that area.

It’s elsewhere that he’s not so sure about.

He wonders, sometimes, when Ronan looks at him. How could he not? Ronan’s eyes will remain on him for a moment too long, or he’ll catch the end of a glance. Adam doesn’t think anyone else has noticed, but Ronan treats him ever so slightly differently than the rest. They spend time together, just the two of them, more often. Ronan comes to Adam when he is frustrated or upset and has no way to work it out, and Adam tries to be a calming presence, though sometimes they fight instead. He gives Adam things, slipping a new quill into his bag or leaving a book on his desk. Taking him to a quiet garden just when he needs a breath of air.

It might not mean anything. It might mean everything.

But the risks of assuming anything are great.

Relationships between men aren’t unknown, but they are kept secret, never admitted of in public. Adam knows that the most well-attended church in the country thinks of them as sinful, and most of the people agree. Any such relationships can’t be carried out easily, can never be official or open.

But he and Ronan are not required to choose a lady to marry if they don’t wish to. They live together in the palace, see each other every day. They _could_ , if they wanted to. No one would ever know if what they did behind closed doors amounted to more than friendship.

It’s a thought Adam has never allowed himself before. He has tried not to think of the possibility, tried not to think too hard about Ronan’s actions toward him or his own slowly budding feelings. Adam has admired men before, like he admires women, but he’s never allowed himself to let it go any deeper or further than that, not when it’s so dangerous.

With Ronan, it was never a choice. It was never about _allowing_. It just happened.

And he doesn’t know if Ronan wants him like that, if Ronan wants him at all. The possibility of destroying their friendship, destabilizing Gansey’s court, is too great. Adam can’t assume anything from Ronan’s actions, can’t assume that his attentions would be welcome or that they would even remain close if he admitted anything.

Ronan attends church every week. Adam doesn’t know how much he agrees with. They’ve never spoken of it.

There are too many _coulds_ , too maybe _maybes_. It’s too dangerous, too potentially disastrous. But Adam’s heart doesn’t seem to know that. It only knows that he doesn’t want to marry, doesn’t want Ronan to, either. 

Adam has always been cautious, has always put his head above his heart. This time, he knows, he has to as well. At least for now, at least until he’s sure saying anything wouldn’t doom their friendship.

He sighs, looking out at the feast. What a place to have some sort of ridiculous revelation, some long-due acceptance of his feelings for Ronan Lynch. What a place and what a time.

_Thank you very much, Henry Cheng,_ he thinks, with no little sarcasm, and straightens from the wall. He has duties to fulfill, a prince to serve, and it looks like Noah and Henry have both been cornered now and need another helping hand.

And Adam, well, he needs to think. Before he takes any action at all, he needs to think.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam attempts to figure out his feelings but is distracted by something that may be more important.

The next morning dawns bright and clear, perfect weather for the tourney held in Gansey’s honor to celebrate his ascension as crown prince.

Adam, often underwhelmed by the customs of nobles, thinks it’s rather ridiculous to celebrate by watching grown men attempt to bash each other’s skulls in, but to each their own. The palace is buzzing, and the city as well, excited to see who will win the melee - and more excited to see who will win the jousting.

That’s also a ridiculous display, in Adam’s mind, but he supposes he can appreciate the skill that goes into it, the preparation and practice. It’s only because he’s been watching Ronan practice for these sorts of things for quite awhile, really.

There is much excitement for the debut of Sir Ronan Lynch, in particular. That much Adam can understand, though perhaps in a different way. He has no doubts about Ronan’s skill, no doubts about his ability to impress the nobles. Ronan may not be a social asset to Gansey’s court, but his renown as a knight will more than make up for that - once people have seen him fight.

In truth, for all that Adam finds tournaments ridiculous, he is oddly excited on this morning. He knows there’ll be no repeat of the incident from last time. Ronan still drinks, sometimes to excess, but he’s far better at knowing when and where it’s appropriate, and Adam knows he has been anticipating this chance to show the kingdom his skill.

Ronan doesn’t care what they think of him, but he cares about the thrill of the fight, about winning, about showing the rightness of his place as Gansey’s knight. And perhaps he cares about the effect it will have on his reputation in the eyes of his father’s council. Impress them, and that’s one step closer to having his home returned to him.

It’s all he wants. It’s what Adam wants too, solely because he knows how much Ronan’s heart yearns for his home, how many changes he’s made in order to get there one day. If winning this tourney will help that, Adam knows Ronan will fight with all he has.

And he wants to see that.

It isn’t only a desire to see his skill, to see him succeed. It’s something else now, after Adam’s talk with Henry, after his somewhat unwelcome realization of his feelings for Ronan.

He didn’t know what to do about them. He didn’t know whether to do anything at all. In that moment, in the banquet hall, he’d thought of all the possibilities, all the ways something like that could happen. Then he’d thought about all the ways it could destroy everything they’ve both worked so hard for.

Adam’s skills of observation are keen, but Ronan has always been difficult to read. He is fiercely loyal to his friends, and has he ever really treated Adam differently than that? Has Adam just been flattering himself?

And even if it’s true, is Adam fit for that sort of thing? Love isn’t something he has any experience with, and Ronan is the sort to put his entire heart into the things he loves. The people he loves. Even if Ronan wants him, even if Adam wants to risk their friendship, what if in the end he only hurts Ronan?

It was a rather sleepless night, alone in the chambers that still feel too large for him. His thoughts circled around Ronan, and he came to no conclusion, eventually giving up on his own foolishness. He’s not the sort who should be sighing over romantic possibilities, reading too much into simple actions, imagining that someone like Ronan would desire him, imagining that he could respond to that desire properly.

Even if it’s true, it’s nothing he can act upon. That, in the end, is what he decided - what he had to decide. Their new positions in the court are still shaky, or at least Adam’s is. Gansey would never dismiss him, but he doesn’t yet know if he can survive the social warfare, the backstabbing, the pleasant smiles that barely cover up condescension. Sometimes all Adam wants to do is flee to the forest. He can’t stand the thought of trying to navigate this without Ronan’s blunt dismissal of court niceties, Ronan’s absurd rudeness. Honestly, sometimes it’s all that keeps him sane.

He can’t compromise that now. He can’t fill his own mind with fantasies and risk shattering what they already have. Right now, they need to support Gansey, and Adam in particular needs to find his place here in the hallways of power, among nobles who have never had to go hungry a day in their lives, people who would scoff to see the shack he grew up in.

Adam is practical. Adam has always had to be practical. Even if he wished to pursue Ronan, even if he were sure Ronan wanted him, now would not be the time.

It’s a brutal sort of practicality. It’s closing a door on a part of his heart he’d only just begun to realize. It’s saying _not now_ the same way he always has, because other things are more important than romance.

It isn’t just him he’s thinking of. Though he thought briefly of how they could be together in an ideal world, this is not an ideal world. If Ronan had a male lover, if word of that got out, it would be a scandal.

Adam has no reputation to ruin. Ronan’s home hangs on his reputation.

It’s not worth it.

Or maybe he’s just a coward.

That is always an option. Adam is a coward, he knows. He could have walked away from his father’s home years before he did. He tells himself it was necessary, he needed to prepare for the Academy, have the money to make it there. But if he’d really wanted to get out, wouldn’t he just have left? Was his future that important, or was he simply a coward, too frightened to walk away?

There is a part of Adam that always knows the answer.

He’d scried, after that. It was meant as a sort of meditation, reaching out to the forest and feeling it reach back. It doesn’t think like a human does, but when he is hurting or scared or hating himself, it can wrap those emotions in branches and leaves, bury them in the dirt so they’ll sprout into something better. Adam wonders sometimes if it is a crutch, if he should simply allow himself to feel those things because he deserves it, but over the years he’s realized little good can come from hating himself.

So he scried, and he came away feeling better, and then he spent the rest of the night doing something else. Something that had come to him in that trance, a slowly-blooming idea that he could not then ignore.

He doesn’t know exactly what it means. He doesn’t know if the forest was trying to understand his very human emotions toward Ronan, trying to interpret them somehow, or if it’s something else. His magic can still be such a mystery to him.

He does know that he’s done something new, though, something he’s never done before.

It’s for that reason that he looks for Ronan on the morning of the tournament.

Not just that reason. Adam also wants to look at him, wants to speak to him, wants to test himself and be certain that he isn’t fooling himself, he does feel something for Ronan that moves beyond friendship. _What if it isn’t real?_

That would make things a lot easier.

But that’s secondary. Still, he finds himself nervous when he reaches the doors to Ronan’s chambers, nervous in a way he hasn’t felt in some time.

He shakes himself mentally. This is Ronan, Ronan Niall Lynch, who Adam has seen so drunk he can’t walk straight, who Adam has seen draw inappropriate graffiti on three different desks at the Academy, who Adam had a two day long fight with after he threw a disgustingly expensive practice sword into the Academy lake (what a waste of money). It’s _Ronan_.

He knocks, and pushes open the door.

It’s just Ronan.

He’s inspecting his armor, checking each piece to be sure it’s intact and won’t fail on him mid-joust. He looks up when Adam enters, and Adam raises an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to have a squire to do that for you?”

“Are you kidding?” Ronan says, scowling. “The one they tried to give me couldn’t find his own ass with two hands and a lantern. I kicked him out.”

Adam is not surprised. He suppresses a smile, an unwelcome surge of fondness.

“He’s probably saying a thousand prayers of thanks right now,” Adam says, walking over and taking a nearby chair, an extravagantly upholstered thing that looks just like some of the furniture in his room except that it has a mud-spattered cloak slung over it.

“Hey, I was pretty fucking decent. Didn’t even make him cry.” Ronan sets down a piece of armor - one of the shoulder pieces, maybe? Adam knows very little about armor, a purposeful choice not to waste time learning things he has no need of. “Gotta head down soon. What, you drop by to wish me luck, Parrish?” There’s a mocking tone to his words, but his eyes on Adam are steady. 

Adam isn’t sure what meaning to take from that, is well aware that he may read too much into Ronan’s actions sometimes. He decides to ignore Ronan’s blue eyes, and to ignore any uncertainty they may make him feel.

“I doubt you’ll need it. No, I have something for you.”

It’s not flattery, simply the truth, but Ronan seems pleased to hear it anyway. He watches as Adam holds out the thing he made, his odd creation from the night before.

It’s a leather band, like the ones Ronan wears, but he’s inscribed it with strange symbols. They look dark, almost burnt into the leather, but in the right light there’s a sheen of green to them. The deep green of the forest.

Adam knows the meanings of some of the symbols. They’re runes Persephone taught him, for protection and strength. But some of them are a mystery even to him. There’s a familiarity to them, like he’s seen them before, maybe years ago or in a dream, but he can’t place them exactly. He’d let the magic guide him, let his hands do as bidden with little guidance from his mind. That had been focused on something else entirely, the strange thrumming energy of the forest in his bones and in his hands.

Ronan looks at it and his brow furrows. Adam, belatedly, remembers Ronan’s dislike of the king’s mystics, his disinterest in and disapproval of magic. He’d forgotten because Ronan never expresses that to him, only occasionally makes amusing remarks about Adam’s tendency to see things that aren’t there. He’s never seemed to disapprove of _Adam_ , but maybe that was only because he was never forced to confront Adam’s magic directly.

But he doesn’t refuse it, as Adam feared. He reaches out, running a finger over the markings, and the look on his face shades into something more like interest.

“What is it?” he asks, and part of Adam relaxes.

“It’s for protection,” Adam says. He rushes to continue before Ronan can say anything else, before he can insist that he doesn’t need it, that his skill is enough. “I was scrying last night, and - I think there’s something. Not something you could protect against yourself. Magic, maybe, or - I don’t know.” He’s not explaining this well. Honestly, he doesn’t know how. How can he explain it when he doesn’t even know why he did it? “It might be nothing.”

It might only have been the forest interpreting his feelings for Ronan in a way that made sense to it, a desire to protect him, to give him something no one else can. Adam doesn’t think it’s just that - it felt like something more - but he knows that could well be all.

“Your weird magic forest told you I needed protection?” Ronan says, skeptical.

“Kind of,” Adam says, because it’s too late to back down now. That’s close enough, anyway. His magic never seems to make sense, especially not when he tries to explain it to someone else. Persephone is the only one who accepts it with only a nod, who seems to understand immediately.

Ronan’s eyes flicker to Adam, then back to the leather band. “Fine, whatever,” he says with a shrug. “It’s pretty badass.”

He smiles then, a bright flash of his teeth, and Adam feels it in his veins.

_What if it isn’t real?_

It is.

Ronan thrusts his arm out, a clear request for Adam to put it on, and so Adam does. He analyzes his own movements, trying to remember how much he normally touches Ronan. Is it all right for his fingertips to rest against Ronan’s skin as he ties it on? Does Ronan usually watch him like that? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t remember. Everything seems more weighted now, more full of possibility.

He lets go of Ronan’s arm when he’s done, not lingering.

“You’d better go,” he says, and his voice sounds like it always does, which seems like a marvel in that moment. 

Ronan nods. “Got a tourney to win,” he says. A servant enters to retrieve his armor, to take it to the tent where he’ll prepare before the jousting. Ronan pauses for a moment before leaving, looking at Adam again. “Hey.” He raises his arm, the leather band’s symbols shining for a moment. “Thanks. Never fought with a favor before.”

Then he’s gone, and Adam presses his lips together in consternation. He hadn’t meant it like _that_. Or maybe he had.

Some ladies will give their lovers - or the men they wish to be their lovers - a token, a scarf tied around his arm most commonly. It’s a symbol of admiration, meant to urge their knights to fight well. A lover’s favor. Ronan is fucking with him.

(Or maybe he’s flirting, part of Adam says. Adam ruthlessly drowns that part. He can’t afford to be foolish.)

But Ronan’s always like that. Adam should not be surprised, should not let it get under his skin. He won’t. It doesn’t mean anything.

He heads outside to the tourney grounds.

Gansey is in the royal box, and Adam joins him. Noah and Henry appear before long, and even Blue, who should probably not be there but who clearly does not care what she should or should not be doing.

Adam’s pleased to see her. In the carefully ordered chaos of Gansey’s ascension, there hasn’t been a place for her, and so they’ve seen relatively little of each other recently. Gansey, of course, offered her a place in his court - and Blue, of course, refused it. She wants to travel, and she will, and Adam knows there’s more to it than that but they are all avoiding that truth. 

This is her home, though, and her family has always worked for the crown. Adam has not pried too much into the details of her plans, but he knows that she’s agreed to look into some matters for Gansey on her travels - personal matters, and for Gansey that means historical matters. He can’t travel freely himself, and she can, and it’s something to tie them together when they have little left. A reason to exchange letters, to meet in person, now that Gansey is meant to be focusing on princely duties.

They don’t speak of that today. Instead, they all steal a few hours to pretend that their lives haven’t changed, pretend that they’re still students with little responsibility. It’s the royal box, but Gansey’s father and mother won’t attend until later, and Princess Helen is with her ladies elsewhere. They have time to themselves to chat and relax and forget, for a moment, about the demands of the court.

Adam knows they’ll have moments like this in the future, that this is part of the reason Gansey chose his court the way he did. But even so, it feels like something is ending, because something is. They’ll never again be able to roam the city on a free day, investigating reports of a built-over tomb. They’ll never again be able to sneak Blue out of her house and find a tavern where no one knows them, telling stories and talking until morning. They’ll have each other, but everything has changed.

For a few hours, though, they can pretend that isn’t true. They watch the melee, and Blue treats them to a measured but fierce argument on the inequalities of entry, the rarity of female warriors and the injustice of that. Henry takes that and runs with it, weaving a tale of the lady warriors of his homeland that Adam thinks is only partially true, but which is entertaining anyway. Gansey is charmed by it, Noah expresses his firm desire to be swept off his feet by a dashing lady knight, and even Blue is laughing by then.

The lack of Ronan’s presence is felt, but since they’re all here to see him, it’s more anticipation than loss that inspires it. And then the sun is hanging high in the sky and it’s time for the jousting.

Adam is not at all surprised to see Ronan do well, but he does feel a thrill simply watching him. His armor is finely made and well taken care of of, and his sigil - a raven in flight - adds a dangerous air. The fierce look on his face is enough to make it clear that Ronan is no knight in shining armor, but Adam looks around when he enters the grounds, and Henry is right - a good number of ladies are sighing over him.

He has no leg to stand on when it comes to criticism. The moment Ronan steps on the field, he loses his place in their conversation, his attention all drawn to one point. Luckily, everyone else falls silent too.

Ronan comports himself excellently in his first two matches. As knights are defeated, it becomes clear that there are only a few true contenders for the final title, and Ronan is easily the most favored.

Though Adam’s attention is occupied by him, a strange sense of disquiet slips over him as the tourney drags on. Ronan, of course, is an excellent knight and deserves his place in the standings. But the one set to face him in the final round is - well. Not.

Joseph Kavinsky was at the Academy with them, though he spent most of his time in the seedier areas of the city, getting into trouble. Adam never had time to care about him, nor any reason to, besides the occasional trouble he gave Ronan. Ronan ran with his group occasionally, though more as an outlier than a member. He never expressed any affection for Kavinsky - entirely the opposite, in fact - and seemed to have no trouble separating himself once he’d decided to. Not long after, Kavinsky left the Academy to finish his education elsewhere - expelled, some said, and covered up by his father, powerful and wealthy and commonly thought to be deeply involved in the black market.

Adam hasn’t thought about him since then, but here he is, wearing the Kavinsky black dragon sigil and doing very well for himself in the jousting. Which is especially odd, because Adam does not remember him ever having any particular skill at the martial arts. At drinking, yes, and racing horses, and procuring women and strange substances for lonely Academy boys. But fighting? 

Could he really have progressed so far in the time since he left the Academy? Adam thinks it unlikely, and while his friends chat amongst themselves he watches Kavinsky’s final match before Ronan very closely.

He almost misses it. It’s a quick movement, a twist of something in Kavinsky’s hand that Adam can’t see just as they’re about to clash, and the opposing knight’s grip falters. Then he’s out of his saddle, and before long it’s over. Adam has watched Ronan train long enough to be able to tell that Kavinsky’s movements are not as precise, as well-trained, as strong as Ronan’s. 

He’s cheating. But there’s no time to tell anyone, especially when Adam has no idea _how_ he’s cheating. The fallen knight is carried from the field, groaning, and then Kavinsky and Ronan are facing each other.

In truth, none of this makes sense to Adam. Why Kavinsky? Why Ronan? Why now, why like this? How is he doing this?

But the why can wait. The how is what matters in this moment, because if Adam can find out how he can stop it, or at least reveal it after the fact. He can only pray that Ronan will not be injured, that this is why the forest had him craft that charm, that he will be protected.

They begin. Their horses’ hooves pound, riding toward one another, and Adam sees Kavinsky’s hand twist again. This time, with all his attention focused, he _feels_ something too. A disturbance, a shuddering in the air, branches moving. But Ronan does not falter, and Kavinsky’s shoulders jerk in something like surprise.

And, Adam is entirely unsurprised to learn, without cheating Kavinsky has no chance of defeating Ronan. He’s out of his saddle in that first push. Ronan dismounts to fight, and it’s over quickly. There is cheering in the stands, Gansey and Noah whoop, and even Blue looks delighted. Adam is pleased, of course, but he has to school his expression into the appropriately happy one, because there’s still no _why_. And that means, he thinks, it probably isn’t over.

Kavinsky leaves the field under his own power, looking murderous. Ronan doesn’t appear to care about either him or the applause of the crowd, instead checking his horse for injuries before remounting and riding to the winner’s box. He is presented with gold, which he absolutely does not need, and a rose.

The ladies of the court go quiet in anticipation, but Ronan barely glances at it. He flicks the flower into the mud of the jousting grounds, well-churned by hooves, and rides back to his tent.

A few ladies sigh. Gansey looks mildly scandalized, and Adam finds himself laughing, joined by Blue. That, after all, is Ronan Lynch.

It eases some of the worry that Adam feels. Whatever Kavinsky did, it had no effect on Ronan. Whatever his plans, they did not succeed. But that won’t be the end of it.

He excuses himself with a quiet comment about needing air. No one seems to question it - the loudness of the tournament has been wearing on him, after all. Henry, for a moment, looks at him shrewdly, but is then distracted by a comment from Noah.

There’s another competition to close the tourney, an archery contest, but Adam doesn’t care about that. He goes to find Ronan.

Ronan is in his tent, having his armor removed by a servant. Adam slips inside and approaches, dismissing the servant after the main pieces have been removed. Ronan can do the rest himself, and Adam wants privacy for this.

Frowning at him, Ronan begins to remove the rest. “I just worked my ass off out there, and you’re making me do this myself?”

“Don’t be a baby,” Adam says. He hesitates, not sure how to begin this. “Out there. Kavinsky. Was anything… strange?”

It’s a bit rude of him to leave the _sir_ off, since Adam himself does not have a title, but he doesn’t care. Kavinsky has not earned his respect.

Ronan shrugs, pulling his gloves off. “Sure. It’s strange he hasn’t gotten himself killed in a horse-racing accident. Or died of syphilis.”

“It’s strange that he’s here at all, right?” Adam says. “That he’s a knight now? And a good one?”

Ronan straightens at that, offended. “He’s not good.”

“He beat everyone before you.”

“He’s not good,” Ronan says. “Just lucky. The guys before me fucked up.” He unhooks his arm guards, takes them off, and Adam sees what half of him was sure he’d see. It puts the last piece of the _how_ puzzle in place, and he reaches out, sliding a finger under the leather band he gave to Ronan earlier. It falls away, split neatly in half, and Adam looks up to meet Ronan’s eyes.

“Not lucky. Cheating.”

Ronan’s brows draw down into a fierce, angry look, one that would be frightening if Adam didn’t know it wasn’t directed at him. “That piece of shit.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ronan and Adam discuss their problem and Adam gets a surprise visitor.

After the tourney they meet in Adam’s rooms - just him and Ronan, at least for now. He doesn’t know whether to tell anyone else, doesn’t know what to tell them, so for now it seems safer to keep this between the two of them.

The palace is preparing for the final celebration of Gansey’s ascension tomorrow, more feasting and dancing and nobles looking down their noses at each other. The last chance to get in Gansey’s good graces, size up his court, find marriage partners for a maiden daughter - at least, the last chance before he truly begins his duties as the crown prince. Though less powerful than the king, Gansey will still be busy, will still have trade routes and treaties and the fates of peasants in his hands. This kingdom has never believed in pampering its heir, but rather in preparing him for ruling.

It’s one of the few things about the ways of nobility that Adam wholeheartedly endorses. Gansey, he thinks, would be a good king no matter what, because that’s simply who he is. But these years of preparation until his father passes away or steps down will make him into a great king.

If they can all survive it.

And that’s why Ronan and Adam meet, and that’s why Adam doesn’t say anything to anyone else. Because he still doesn’t understand _why_ , he doesn’t know how to unravel the problem of Joseph Kavinsky, and he thinks that Ronan does. Or, at the very least, he’ll have a clue.

Adam never had any time or interest to spare on Kavinsky. Ronan did - though Adam knows there was no love lost there, that Ronan never considered him a friend. He doesn’t know what Kavinsky thought. He never really cared, until now.

A servant brings them bread and cheese and wine, and Adam thanks him, a bad habit that he probably needs to break but stubbornly chooses not to. He is not a noble, and not so very long ago a palace servant would have been leagues above him in terms of status. It’s strange still to be so far above what he was, and even sitting here in his rooms they don’t yet feel like his own.

He had many of the richer furnishings removed when the rooms were given to him. It’s bad enough that they were _given_ to him, but it was necessary. As Gansey’s advisor, he needs dwellings that fit his station, and Adam has no land, no castle, no home in the city. He considered finding rooms of his own out there - in times of peace, the advisor does not need to remain in the palace at all times, does not need to be available at any hour, though his ruler must know where to find him. But it made more sense to take these rooms, at least for now, at least until he’s established himself. It helps the nobles see him as a legitimate choice, doesn’t allow them to ignore him so easily. It’s a compromise, given Adam’s desire for some amount of independence, but he believes it’s the right choice.

But it’s the royal palace. The rooms were richly outfitted, and none of it was his, and he was uncomfortable. So Adam has done what he can. Now they are a simpler version of Ronan’s nearly identical rooms, which always are a mess of grossly expensive clothing and books and weapons everywhere. Adam’s rooms are neat, the furniture mostly simple, if well-made. It doesn’t look lived in yet, and it doesn’t feel like his, but he supposes it’ll get there.

With Ronan there, it feels a little more _right_. Ronan makes himself at home everywhere he goes with a blithe disregard for politeness, and now his feet are up on one chair while he lounges in another and picks pieces of bread apart. Despite everything, despite his own uncertainty and the feelings Adam has to admit are real, despite the odd nervousness he feels sometimes when Ronan looks at him, having him there is nice. It’s comfortable, like their days at the Academy, Adam studying and Ronan leaning halfway out the dorm window to hurl insults at passing students - or feed the birds, if no one was watching.

It relaxes him, it reminds him how important Ronan has become to him. It reminds him that something could easily have happened today.

He lets himself look at Ronan for a moment. His long legs, his clever, blunt-fingered hands. The set of his shoulders, relaxed and easy, the way the edges of his tattoo are just barely visible thanks to the loose neckline of his shirt. His sharp jaw, the shadow of his dark lashes on his cheek when he looks down.

There is a danger to Ronan, but Adam has always found it an attractive one. And at some point that flowered into something more, and now Adam doesn’t know if he’ll ever be free of this.

He pushes the thought away. There are more important things. There’s a reason Ronan is here, and it’s not simply because Gansey is dining with his parents tonight and they’ve finally been left to their own devices.

Adam breaks the silence. “It was some kind of magic. I don’t know what, exactly, but I felt it.”

Ronan nods, unconcerned by the sudden observation. “And your charm thing stopped it.” He looks angry again, brows drawn down as he thinks about Kavinsky. “But it worked on other people?”

“Yes,” Adam says, thinking back to the tourney. “His other opponents both faltered as they charged. They gave him an opening. I don’t know how it works, I don’t know if it harmed them in some way or only distracted them, but it’s unlikely he’d have won without it. Especially if he really isn’t that good.”

“He just wanted to win?” Ronan sounds disbelieving, and Adam shares his doubt. That doesn’t seem like what he knows of Kavinsky, who always had a reputation for being nasty and cruel but never cared much about proving his worth as a knight. Why would he care about winning a jousting tournament?

“I don’t know,” Adam says. He looks at Ronan, because this isn’t something he can reason his way to. He doesn’t know Kavinsky. “Why would he?”

There’s a chance it doesn’t matter. There’s a chance that Kavinsky will disappear again, back to his father’s holdings or into the sleazy taverns of the lower city, leaving them all in peace. There’s a chance, sure, but Adam doesn’t think it’s a large one. There must be something else going on, and while normally Adam wouldn’t care, if it involves Ronan -

Well. He can’t simply pretend it’s nothing.

Ronan’s still scowling. “Fuck if I know. Can’t believe he’s still pissed.”

At that, Adam rolls his eyes. “So something did happen.”

“Ages ago,” Ronan says, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. “Before he left the Academy. He asked me to come with him wherever he was going, talked some shit about Gansey, said he knew I had something he wanted. I told him to fuck off. He was pissed, then he left. That’s it.”

Adam wonders if that really is it, but he knows Ronan doesn’t lie. That’s what happened - whatever else there is, embedded between those words, are emotions and thoughts and things that Ronan would never feel comfortable articulating. But Adam has a glimmer of understanding.

“I didn’t know you two were that close,” he says, neutral, and Ronan scoffs.

“We weren’t,” Ronan says, “we were never even friends.”

It’s what Adam has always thought, and it’s oddly pleasant to know that he wasn’t mistaken. “But he thought you’d go with him?”

“I guess.”

“He didn’t know you that well,” Adam says under his breath, a casual aside, and is rewarded with a sudden and fierce smile from Ronan, gone almost as soon as it appears. Like a heart attack, the effects linger.

It isn’t surprising that Kavinsky would judge Ronan poorly. Adam did the same, after all, once upon a time. It’s easy to look at his attitude, his bearing, his interests and assume things. Assume his loyalty is weak, his heart is cold, his friendships shallow. Perhaps Kavinsky thought he saw himself in Ronan, and didn’t bother to look past that reflection to the truth of him.

It takes an effort, Adam knows. It takes observation to see how fierce Ronan’s loyalty is, how brightly his passions burn. He may not care about most things, but the things he does care about are treated with utter devotion, a kind of dedicated, steady fidelity that Adam thinks few can match.

He would never have abandoned Gansey. He would never even have considered it.

Would Kavinsky have felt spurned enough to wish some kind of revenge? Is that what this is about? There’s no other explanation, but Adam can’t help but feel faintly annoyed. It’s Kavinsky’s own fault if he misjudged Ronan so poorly. There’s no reason for this sort of pettiness. They have more important things to worry about than a childish grudge, and Ronan might have been in danger. Might still be in danger.

“So?” Ronan asks impatiently. “What are we doing?”

Adam should maybe be annoyed that Ronan so quickly assumes he’ll figure this out for them, but instead he’s just pleased. “We should let Gansey know. If Kavinsky’s still around, he might try to cause more trouble. And I’ll talk to Persephone, try to figure out what that magic was so we can shut it down for good.”

Or so they can at least be prepared if this escalates. Kavinsky is an unknown quantity. Adam doesn’t know exactly what he wants or how far he’ll be willing to go - or anything about the kind of magic he was using. It’s better to get as much information as they can before making any moves.

Ronan does not seem delighted by the ‘tell Gansey, then see what happens’ plan, but he nods. Ronan trusted Adam with his attempts to convince his father’s council, he’s trusting Adam with this too. It’s flattering, it’s a little distracting, and Adam can’t help but feel a warm glow.

There’s a careful knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a servant. Adam assumes it’s a message from Gansey, or maybe Noah - but the servant stands up straight and looks at him, and he gets a strange sense of foreboding.

“Master Parrish -” Adam has asked for that, rather than ‘sir’ or ‘my lord’ because he is neither a sir nor a lord, and the servants can’t simply call him ‘Adam’, “-Sir Lynch, I’m sorry to interrupt. You have a visitor.”

Ronan scowls. “Who? Kavinsky?”

The servant quails briefly in the face of Ronan’s displeasure, though it’s really quite mild in Adam’s opinion.

“Not you, my lord. Master Parrish.”

And that’s a surprise, because Adam doesn’t know who would wish to visit him. All of his friends save Blue are here in the palace, and would simply show up at his door if they wanted to see him. And Blue is well known as an associate of the prince and his court, which doesn’t do wonders for her reputation as a lady but does mean that she can move through the palace freely. If a servant has come here, it’s likely because someone was stopped by the guards at the walls.

He’s about to ask who it is when the servant speaks again.

“He says he’s your father.”

Adam is frozen. 

Ronan is not. He explodes the instant it sinks in.

“Tell him to fuck off,” he snarls, and the servant’s eyes widen. It looks like it’s taking everything in him to keep from backing away, but he looks at Adam instead.

Adam can’t think. His mind is running in circles. _He says he’s your father._ Why is he here? How did he get here? What does he want? He can’t think.

“ _Adam_ ,” Ronan says, and the sound of his name seems to unfreeze him, a magic spell, a curse breaking.

“Show him in,” Adam says, and his voice sounds distant in his own ears. Ear, because he can only hear out of one, because his father beat him so badly he lost his hearing and made some kind of magical bargain with a forest in order to survive.

The servant bows and rushes out. Ronan stares at him. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

Adam does not know how to even begin explaining this. He’s terrified, his insides feel like ice, but he takes a breath. He’s going to see his father in a few minutes.

“I don’t know why he’s here. It might be something important.” About his mother, maybe? If she is ill or injured, Adam wants to know. He doesn’t owe her anything, she never protected him, but she is still his mother.

“So? Fuck him, Parrish. He’s a piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve anything after what he did to you.”

They’ve never really talked about it, but Ronan has known for awhile, and Adam is aware of that. Ronan doesn’t know the extent of it, but whatever he imagines can’t be too far from the truth. It’s what instilled in Adam his stubbornness, his practicality, his focus on survival. It’s what made him cold, what makes him feel certain he can never love Ronan properly even if he tries. He doesn’t even know what love is. It’s what makes him flinch when someone touches him and he doesn’t expect it, what makes him watch people’s hands carefully if they seem angry. It’s what keeps him from ever picking up a weapon, even when Ronan has offered to teach him, because he’s afraid of turning into his father. Of hurting someone who cannot defend themselves, simply because he’s angry.

He needs to look his father in the face, or else part of him will always be that frightened boy.

Ronan is pacing now, working himself up into a rage. Adam isn’t afraid of him, he hasn’t been for so long now. Ronan would cut his hands off before raising one to Adam. They both know it, though they’ve never spoken of that, either. In a way, Ronan’s rage calms him, because it’s familiar.

“You’re right. He doesn’t deserve anything, but I want to see him. Then it’ll be over.”

It’s clear that Ronan doesn’t understand, that maybe he can’t understand. That’s okay. There are things about Ronan that Adam has a hard time understanding too. They’re different people, from different places. He doesn’t need Ronan to understand, he just needs Ronan to not do something stupid.

Part of Adam would like to have Ronan there. Ronan will never allow anything to hurt him, and his presence would give Adam strength, would help him center himself. But the possible downsides are far too many, and Adam knows it would only end in disaster. So he catches Ronan’s eye and says, “You need to go.”

Ronan’s jaw clenches. “I’m not leaving.”

“You are,” Adam says, and it isn’t a request. For a moment he thinks Ronan will explode, will truly give in to his anger and they’ll really fight and it’ll all go bad. But for all that Ronan is stubborn and angry and fierce, he sometimes seems to know exactly when his anger will make everything worse. He knows when to back off, and though often he _doesn’t_ , miracles have been known to happen.

His fists clench, his shoulders tighten, but he doesn’t explode. His eyes are burning, though, and the suppressed rage in his voice is enough to terrifying a hundred innocent servants.

“I should beat him to a pulp,” Ronan says, “I should drive a sword right through his heart.”

“You’re Gansey’s knight,” Adam says, his voice quiet. He cannot say that Ronan’s words mean nothing to him. “You can’t do something like that.”

Ronan pauses at the door, looks back at him. “I’m your knight too.”

Then he is gone.

His words echo in Adam’s head, in his heart. Adam’s movements are mechanical as he straightens the chairs, straightens his clothing, breathes in and out. The forest whispers in his ears, curling tendrils through Ronan’s words, calming him. Giving him strength.

The servant shows his father in.

It has been more than two years since Adam has been face-to-face with Robert Parrish. His father looks older than Adam remembers, smaller. There is still a visceral sort of fear in Adam’s gut, still fingers of ice crawling up his neck. But there’s magic at his fingertips, too, and power.

Robert Parrish can’t raise a hand to him. Not anymore.

“Boy,” Robert says, and the sound of it - the disgust and dislike - is so familiar. Has Adam ever felt like his father loved him, or even cared for him? If he did, he can’t remember it. “You managed to trick them into giving you a plum position.”

His accent is thick, and Adam remembers all the times he’s tried so hard to hide his own, all the times it’s slipped out despite that. Robert Parrish sounds like home, and it turns Adam’s stomach and makes him desperately homesick at the same time.

“I earned this,” Adam says, even though sometimes he feels like he didn’t. He would not be here if the king hadn’t approved of Gansey’s choice, he would not be here if he hadn’t worked for years to get to the Academy and then worked even harder to stay there. He earned this. He has to believe that.

Robert laughs, an ugly thing. “You always did think you were better than us. They’ll see through it.”

“Why are you here?” Adam says. He feels distant, like he’s only half there. Like he could disappear.

“We raised you,” Robert says. “I think you owe us for all the money we spent putting food in your ungrateful mouth. I think you need to pay us back.” He moves, just a little, and suddenly Adam is afraid.

_He can’t hurt me_ , he tells himself. It’s true, he knows it’s true. One blow would have him hauled off by guards. No one can attack a member of the prince’s court freely.

But still Adam is afraid. It’s a part of him, bred into his bones by years of beatings and cruel words and neglect. _We raised you_ , his father says, and Adam remembers going to bed hungry night after night, remembers his father finding a book he’d saved for weeks to buy and tossing it into the fire, remembers his mother’s quiet reminders that if he stopped making his father angry this would stop happening. He remembers bruises and broken ribs, the quickly averted gazes of the other villagers, the whispers.

_We raised you._

“I don’t need to do anything,” Adam says, and he is afraid but he is calm. He got out on his own, he got here on his own, he became who he is now - advisor to the crown prince, Academy graduate, magician - on his own. He has friends, friends who would kill for him or die for him or live for him, and though he may not deserve it it remains true.

“Don’t play games with me, boy,” Robert says, his brows drawing down into a familiar scowl. “You owe us.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Adam says. All his father is here for is money. There was nothing else, nothing important, and yet - Adam still needed to see him. Adam needed to know that he wasn’t that frightened boy anymore. It may always be part of him, but it doesn’t rule him.

The forest hums in the back of his mind.

“Don’t ever come back here again,” Adam says, his voice clear and his gaze steady. “I owe you nothing.”

He doesn’t know what his father sees when he looks at him, but Robert Parrish is unable to meet his gaze for long. He looks away, and Adam feels like he’s won and he doesn’t know why.

“Ungrateful, selfish brat,” Robert says, but it’s muttered under his breath. “What a waste of time.”

Adam doesn’t know if he’s referring to coming to the capitol or having a son in the first place. It doesn’t matter. His father doesn’t look at him again.

When he is gone and Adam can breathe again, he thinks about his father’s clothes. Threadbare and dirty, Adam knows they were still the best he had - the sort of thing he would have to wear to the palace to have any chance of getting in. He remembers wearing clothes like that, remembers their cold shack, remembers his mother making meals stretch as far as they could go. It hasn’t been so long since that time.

Any money he gave his father would just be spent on liquor. But Adam has a stipend now, in addition to his rooms, and he thinks it over for hours before he comes to a decision.

He arranges for a courier to bring his mother a good sum of money. On a horse, the courier will arrive before his father returns home, and if she is careful she can keep the money hidden. Spend it on food, clothing, improving themselves. If she isn’t - well, that’s not Adam’s concern anymore.

He doesn’t owe them anything, he truly believes that. But this money is, to him, a way to sever all ties. There is no part of him that will feel responsible for them, there is no part that will wonder if he could have been a better son, if he could have done something differently to make them love him. They’ll never love him, and he’s done all he is willing to do for them.

He doesn’t owe them anything, and now he never has to wonder whether that’s true or not.

His past will always be a part of him, will always shape who he is now. But it’s behind him, and ahead is a future filled with more promise than fear. This, Adam thinks, is what freedom feels like.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a duel and a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to keep the tags/warnings for this fic up to date, if they're ever missing anything you'd want to have been warned for, please let me know! Also, thanks so, so much to everyone who has commented, kudosed, or even just read and enjoyed this fic. There's more to come, thank you for giving me so much motivation and love!

Adam would prefer to take his time looking into Joseph Kavinsky. His plans, his possible targeting of Ronan, his magic. He would prefer to speak to Gansey about it, have the time to make a plan.

As it turns out, he doesn’t get a chance for any of that.

He is consulting with the head of the stables on a gift Gansey has been offered, a fine horse, when a servant comes rushing to find him. The near-panic on the servant’s face is enough to tear Adam away from his task, and discovering it was caused by Ronan Lynch and Joseph Kavinsky sends him hurrying through the halls.

They’re on the training grounds. Adam is not surprised to find Ronan there - he’s always preferred to work his emotions out through physical action, and he knows that when Ronan left his rooms the night before he had a lot on his mind. Of course he would come to the training grounds once the sun rose, ready to bury those concerns with grueling sword practice - despite jousting only the day before.

But Kavinsky being there is more suspect. Adam can only think that he came to find Ronan, because Kavinsky never attended practice even at the Academy. Adam would have expected him to spend the days after his loss getting roaring drunk in the city, but here he is, on the palace’s training grounds looking to cause trouble.

It isn’t only them - there’s a scattering of alarmed onlookers, servants and a few guardsmen and one or two lesser nobles. It’s early in the day, rather too early for many people to be here, and Adam is silently grateful for that. Perhaps he can stop this before anything goes wrong - or perhaps he can even spin this into something that gives them answers. That makes Ronan safe.

But it’s very quickly clear that things have already veered beyond his control.

Ronan’s gaze goes to Adam the moment he steps on the training grounds. There’s a brief flash of something that might be concern in his eyes, or might be something else entirely. Kavinsky doesn’t look at him at all - not until he places himself neatly at Ronan’s side, a united front against whatever it is Kavinsky has planned.

Kavinsky, thin and looking hungry for something Adam is sure no one can provide, curls his lip at the sight of Adam. There’s a feral sort of smile on his face, like he’s been looking for this confrontation, and Adam thinks that is likely the case.

“You need Gansey’s pity project to back you up, Lynch? Don’t think you can face me on your own?”

Adam lets the barb slide past him. He can’t afford to allow Kavinsky to get under his skin. He doesn’t know what he’s walked into - he doesn’t know how far it has already gone. It doesn’t seem that either of them has issued a formal challenge, and he can see that no blows have been thrown, but whatever words they exchanged before this have Ronan on the edge of an explosion.

It might have been better if Gansey had been the one the servant ran for. He’s more of a calming presence than Adam, who is cold and calculating and is already trying to figure out not how to end this confrontation but how to get Kavinsky to back off for good. If Ronan’s explosion will help that, Adam won’t stop it.

“He has no need to face you. He’s already beaten you,” Adam says, a simple truth. Kavinsky’s smirk twists, his eyes growing wilder.

“Yeah, and how’d you manage that, Lynch? I should have had you down on the ground with a sword in your throat in seconds. The magic worked on everyone else. But here you are.” He spits on the ground, casual and offensive.

He isn’t even bothering to pretend that he didn’t use magic - that he didn’t cheat. Adam doesn’t understand why, when there’s no reason to admit it. He doesn’t care who knows, that’s clear, but to Adam that seems foolish, that’s throwing away a weapon he could have used again. The rest of it, though, is clear enough.

He didn’t kill his other opponents, but he was intending to kill Ronan. Was that the whole point?

Adam’s eyes narrow, but Ronan speaks before he can.

“Fucking cheat. You wouldn’t have beat me anyway.” Adam can sense the tension in his body. “Why the hell try to kill me? I don’t give a shit about you.” He doesn’t mention Adam, he doesn’t mention the reason Kavinsky’s magic didn’t affect him.

It should be obvious, but Adam knows Kavinsky has never paid any attention to him. He keeps his abilities quiet, in any case - not a secret, but not common knowledge. Adam’s magic is subtle, not flashy - no thrown fireballs or fearsome familiars, simply visions of trees and possible futures, a sense of the lay of magic around him, the ability to shape and twist that magic in careful ways. Most of the kingdom doesn’t believe magic is anything real, thinks the king’s magicians are charlatans. Magic is a rare enough thing that it’s difficult to prove otherwise, though Adam knows the truth of it. And so does Kavinsky, apparently, though Adam cannot remember ever sensing magic about him when they were at the Academy.

“I told you,” Kavinsky says, focused on Ronan. “With me or against me.” His fist clenches. “Turns out I didn’t need you anyway. I got something better.”

Ronan’s impatience is clear. “I was never gonna go with you. What the fuck did you do, Kavinsky?” He spits out the name like a curse, and Kavinsky laughs, loud and wild.

“I made a deal, Lynch. I found a ritual, I made a deal, I got the power. It lets me tweak minds, distract them, fuck with them. I thought about fucking with yours, but I think I’m just gonna kill you. You already said no - no second chances.” Kavinsky’s eyes are bright with an unholy glee at his own ridiculous plan. “Then I’ll kill your beggar friend, fuck with Dick’s mind. Wonder how long it’ll take to ruin a kingdom? You think he’ll die first? This shit eats at you.”

It’s not a very well-thought-out plan, Adam thinks coolly. His mind works quickly under pressure, it always has, and if that’s Kavinsky’s plan, it’s easy to pick apart. Controlling Gansey would only get him so far. He might be able to do it for awhile, but people would notice, and Adam isn’t the only magician serving the king. And what does he expect to do with the people here, the ones watching them? Wipe their memories of this moment? Right now they surely only think he’s babbling nonsense, but they’ve all heard him.

Does he have the power for that? Adam isn’t sure, but he doubts it. A ritual - a deal with some sort of spirit, likely a creature of dark magic. He’ll have traded part of himself in return for power, and that can only take someone so far.

Kavinsky is unhinged. It’s an elaborate suicide plan. Even if it worked, the dark magic would only eat him up from the inside, because that’s what dark magic does. It consumes. He knows that, and he chose to use it anyway.

And now that he’s threatened the crown prince in front of onlookers, there’s no path out. At the very best, with no further action, that would be treason. But the gleam in his eyes, the look on his face, means that ‘no further action’ is an impossibility.

Ronan sees it too. 

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” he bites out, nearly snarling, and raises his voice, gesturing to the attendant on the edge of the grounds. “Get me my sword.”

“You think you can take me now? A challenge from the prince’s knight? You can’t protect yourself anymore. Whatever you found is gone, you think I can’t tell? You’re going down, Lynch. But sure, let’s play your game.” Kavinsky gestures for his sword as well, his smile only growing.

Ronan turns away, stalking to the edge of the training grounds with long strides, collecting his sword. Neither of them have armor - Ronan only meant to practice when he came here, and who knows what Kavinsky was thinking? Adam follows him, and Kavinsky doesn’t spare him a glance, and that’s good. He thinks Ronan found some kind of artifact or charm, something magical that would protect him - and he did, after all, and it _is_ gone now. He’s not wrong about that. But Kavinsky doesn’t know, or care, that Adam was the one who made it.

He’s clearly planning to use his magic against Ronan in their fight. He’s essentially stated his intention to cheat again, banking on Ronan’s anger and loyalty to draw him into a undoubtedly unwinnable fight. But Adam is here, and Adam can - well. He _should_ be able to protect Ronan.

Adam has never done anything like this before, but there is no choice. He isn’t going to let Ronan die, and he certainly isn’t going to let Kavinsky win. He’s not even sure Kavinsky _wants_ to win. Going out in a dramatic blaze of glory might be exactly what he’s going for here.

Ronan is hefting his sword, checking the balance. Preparing himself. His eyes flicker to Adam as he approaches, and Adam reads the anger in them, the worry. “Can you keep him from fucking me up?”

Adam isn’t sure, but there is no use in saying that. He doesn’t want Ronan to second-guess himself, to psych himself out or fight differently. In a match of pure swordsmanship, Ronan will win every time. So long as Adam can keep Kavinsky’s magic from touching him, it’ll be just like the joust.

“Yes,” he says, putting confidence and certainty in his voice, and Ronan nods, a tiny bit of tension going out of his shoulders. One less thing for him to worry about, and Adam silently vows to do everything he can. He looks at Ronan, catching his eyes, holding his gaze. “Are you sure?”

He doesn’t say it aloud, but they’re both thinking it. _Are you sure you can do this? Are you sure you’re ready to kill him?_ That’s the only way this can end. They both know it.

Ronan is a knight. He’s Gansey’s knight-captain. Though this may be the first life his sword takes, it won’t be the last - that simply isn’t the world they live in. Lives will end at Adam’s hand, too, though not because he wields a sword. Because he wields power, and one decision from a noble can end in the deaths of dozens of peasants with the noble never caring, never thinking about it.

Adam has always been aware of this. How could he not be? His decisions, Gansey’s decisions, will hold even more power. So long as he remembers what it felt like to be one of those peasants, he can try to make sure that they are the right decisions. 

But this, this is something else. This isn’t a border skirmish or a guard patrol cleaning up bandits. This is a duel with someone they both know, someone Ronan was almost friends with. Someone they attended school with.

Ronan doesn’t look happy, but he does look determined. “It’s gotta be done.” And he’s right.

Adam rests his hand on Ronan’s arm, just for a moment, hoping to give him something with the gentle press of Adam’s fingers. He’s not sure what. Support, comfort, worry. He wants to say _be careful_ , he wants to say _I can’t lose you_. He wants to say _kiss me, for luck_.

He doesn’t say anything. He lets his hand fall, they step away from each other, and Ronan strides into battle.

Afterward, Adam can’t remember any specifics of the fight. He knows that he saw it - he was there, he saw every swing, every strike. But he wasn’t really there. His body was, his eyes trained on Ronan, tense and fearful but confident in his abilities. His mind was elsewhere, outside of time, wrapped in branches and leaves and ageless magic.

It’s like scrying, like immersing himself in a pool of power, but instead of simply being able to watch, Adam must act. He can feel Kavinsky’s magic like a fire, flames licking out into the space between him and Ronan, trying to reach Ronan. Adam doesn’t know what they will do if they succeed. Kavinsky only distracted his opponents in the joust, but Adam can see now that the power goes much deeper than that, that he likely wasn’t lying when he spoke of controlling minds and twisting thoughts. He can see how it’s twisted itself around Kavinsky, consuming him slowly.

He doesn’t let it touch Ronan. It’s a different kind of battle, Adam fighting as Ronan does. The forest willingly comes to his aid, granting its magician the power he asks, but Adam has never done this before - has never even tried it. He makes it up as he goes along, twining branches into a wall to keep out the flames, encircling Kavinsky in mist that the fire burns away, letting the forest feed him power.

It doesn’t look like anything. It looks like he’s watching the duel, intent and concentrating on each blow. Magic is not flashy the way they tell in tales, but subtle. He feels powerful, strong, like he could do anything. He keeps Ronan safe, Kavinsky’s magic never able to touch him.

Vaguely, he is aware that this frustrates Kavinsky, that he doesn’t understand why it’s not working. His swordwork grows sloppy, wild. Ronan was always better, but now the difference is clear as day. It’s only a matter of time, after that.

Adam feels the moment Ronan’s blade slides home. It’s a clean strike, and Kavinsky’s magic and life both gutter out in the same instant. It feels like missing a step on a staircase and catching himself, a sudden fall and then ground safely beneath his feet. Adam opens his eyes - they were already open, Adam _sees_ again - as the forest untangles itself from his mind, vines uncurling and leaves brushing his cheek. He feels unreal, he feels powerful, the magic still flowing through him.

His eyes go to Ronan, sword bloody, face still. Kavinsky’s body at his feet. Adam should feel regret, he should feel something, but he doesn’t. It’s a fault in him, he knows. Kavinsky needed to die, and now he is dead. The sight of his body moves nothing in Adam, but the sight of Ronan’s face does.

The onlookers approach, servants and the few nobles alike, ready to praise Ronan - he did the right thing, protecting his prince from an obvious threat. Ronan simply presses his sword into the attendant’s hand and turns, stalking from the training ground. Adam smoothly places himself between Ronan and those who would follow him.

They’ve been friends for years now. He knows when Ronan needs to be alone, when even Adam or Gansey’s presence is unwelcome. His heart is full of unrest, full of worry, but now is not the time to run after Ronan.

Luckily for Adam, there are things to be done. Duty is an island of calm amidst the chaos of his feelings for Ronan, and it soothes him. He sends word to Gansey, sends word to the king. He arranges for a courier to take tidings of this to Lord Kavinsky, Joseph’s father. He can’t be sure of political ramifications of this - Lord Kavinsky was not known to be fond of Joseph, and there are plenty of witnesses to attest to the rightness of Ronan’s actions, but that was still his son. But it’s something to concern himself with later.

He has the body taken away, the training ground cleaned. By then Gansey arrives, alarmed, and Adam tells him the whole story, from the very beginning. At least, as much of it as he knows.

It’s a comfort to see him, but Adam is now glad that he wasn’t the one there. If it had been Gansey instead of Adam, Ronan would have been unprotected - and Gansey is a good person. A kind one. Adam can see the upset in his eyes at Kavinsky’s death, can see how distraught he is. 

Adam still doesn’t feel anything. It’s better that he was the one to see this, though he loves Gansey more for caring even about someone who meant to ruin him.

Gansey goes to find Ronan. Adam doesn’t follow, retreating to his rooms to get other things done in preparation for the feast that night. By the time he has to leave, he’s - calmer. Worried still, but no longer with that tightness in his throat, that awareness that Ronan could have died.

And so, of course, he heads to Ronan’s rooms.

Ronan answers his door at Adam’s knock. He’s dressed for the feast, a fine black tunic with hardly any tears in it, and the expression on his face is still shuttered, but no longer frozen. “Dick send you to get me?”

“I came on my own,” Adam says. He doesn’t know what Gansey and Ronan spoke of, but he doesn’t need to know. It helped, that’s all that matters. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come tonight.”

Ronan rolls his eyes, and that’s when Adam knows he’s going to be all right. It’s familiar, disdainful of everything that comes along with nobility and the king’s court. Adam is desperately fond of it. “I wasn’t going to, but he fucking talked me into it. ‘Oh, Ronan, you can’t lock yourself away, everyone will want to see you after that.’ Fuck, all the more reason not to go. But whatever.” His Gansey voice is high and ridiculous, and Adam feels a smile twitching at his mouth.

There’s still a heaviness to Ronan, a darkness in his eyes, and he looks at Adam with a rare seriousness. “Hey. He really had some kind of magic crap?” The question is abrupt, and Adam thinks that he’s been thinking about this, that he needs reassurance that there was no other choice.

Adam doesn’t need to lie. “Yes,” he says. Ronan may not like magic, but unlike so many others, he knows it’s real. He’s never doubted, which is something that’s always made Adam curious. It means that he believes Adam now, that he always has. “Calla told me that people have made deals like that before. It’s giving away a part of themselves for power. It never ends well.” He meets Ronan’s eyes. “It would have killed him.”

Ronan nods, just once. That seems to be what he needed to hear. The truth of it, that his ending Kavinsky’s life was not for no reason, that Kavinsky was headed for a bad end either way. Ronan’s sword simply meant that the only person he took down was himself.

“Let’s go get this bullshit over with,” Ronan says, and Adam accompanies him to the feast.

It’s the final celebration for Gansey, but word of what happened has spread quickly. Ronan gets a great deal of attention, which he deals with in typical Ronan fashion - with snarling and sharp laughter, crude words and intimidating silences. Gansey plays peacemaker and distraction, Noah wades into the fray to keep anything from exploding, and Henry dances around the edges with smooth words and a friendly smile.

Adam normally circulates at these feasts, speaks to nobles and attempts to understand alliances and form his own, looking out for Gansey’s interests. Tonight, he stays with Ronan. It’s a relief, honestly, and he finds himself cutting into conversations with a cool word and a distant demeanor when it looks like Ronan is getting too irritated. Gansey distracts with clever conversation, Adam silences a question with a simple ‘that has nothing to do with you’, and together they manage to keep Ronan from punching anyone.

It doesn’t gain Adam any friends, but he’s not particularly in a mood to make friends - or make nice. As the night wears on, though, he finds himself having a strangely good time.

It’s because of the quirk in Ronan’s lips when Adam says something particularly icy to a prying young nobleman. It’s the way his eyes slide to meet Adam’s when someone says something especially ridiculous, the way he’ll repeat it under his breath when they’re gone in a nonsensical imitation of their voice, just like he did with Gansey. It’s the way Adam sees the tension slowly sliding from him.

“You two are impossible tonight,” Gansey says at one point, sounding exasperated and amused all at once, and Ronan barks out a sharp laugh, and Adam realizes he is smiling too.

Perhaps they should not be doing this, perhaps he should be more polite and more political, but when Ronan looks at him he feels like he’s riding a horse at a gallop, running through the streets of the city. He feels like he did when the magic had hold of him, powerful and wild and connected.

The feast ends late, as they always do. They leave together, as they arrived. Ronan walks with Adam to his room, and Adam waves him in, laughing. “I think Lord Isley heard you making fun of him. Did you see the look on his face? They all thought you were a hero this morning, and now they all think you’re a scoundrel again.”

Ronan’s grin is pointed, dangerous. He looks like himself. “Fucking good. I don’t want any bullshit hero worship. Besides, you’re the one who said he was showing an inappropriate amount of interest in Lady Keaton’s daughter.”

“Yes, but he didn’t hear _me_ ,” Adam says, and Ronan snorts. He leans back against Adam’s door for a moment, letting his head fall back to hit the wood. Adam looks at the line of his neck, his jaw. He makes himself stop looking, but when he pulls his eyes away he sees that Ronan is looking at him, that he has been caught.

Ronan straightens and reaches out, fingers wrapping around Adam’s wrist, and Adam freezes. “Hey,” he says, and then he stops, like he doesn’t know what comes next. There is silence for a long moment, and then he says, “thanks.”

Adam shakes his head, starts to say something to deny it - Ronan’s thanks are not something he deserves - but the words die on his lips as Ronan’s hand moves, curls around his own.

Ronan bends, a courtly bow, something Adam has rarely seen from him. He raises Adam’s hand and presses his lips to it.

It should be absurd. Ronan Lynch, who eschews all things chivalrous, kissing Adam’s hand like a gallant courting a lady. Ronan is no gallant, and Adam is no lady, but there is no absurdity to it. There is honesty in each of Ronan’s movements. His lips against Adam’s skin leave no doubt that he does this deliberately, that he is not mocking Adam or himself.

He straightens, and his eyes search Adam’s face. There’s something in them, apprehension or fear or uncertainty. They are frozen in a moment that could shatter with a single word. Laughter from Adam, a brushed-off comment from Ronan, and this would fall away like it never was. It would be a joke between friends, and nothing more.

But Adam thinks about the terror in his heart at the thought of losing Ronan, the way he felt at the tournament when he realized what was going on, his determination to protect Ronan earlier that day. He thinks about all the times he’s looked at Ronan and caught Ronan looking at him, all the times Ronan has given him something he’s given no one else. He thinks about the trust he has in Ronan.

He thinks about the fear he felt when he faced his father, the freedom he took for himself. The strength he had in that moment, despite his fear. He thinks about the way Ronan looks right now, looking at Adam like he holds the key to something impossible.

“Adam,” Ronan says, and Adam steps forward and kisses him.

Ronan’s lips are warm against his, and Ronan is still for only a moment. Then his hand finds its way to Adam’s waist, his lips move against Adam’s, and Adam is flooded with warmth and amazement and the realization of something he’s wanted for longer than he was willing to admit to himself.

They part only briefly, and then Ronan is kissing him again. Adam has kissed people before, but this is something entirely different, this is like fire in his veins, like a storm in his heart. Ronan kisses like he’s hungry, like he’s been wanting this for years, and Adam matches him with equal desire. Ronan’s hands are on his waist, then curled in his hair, then cupping his face, and Adam finds himself tracing his fingers over Ronan’s arms and shoulders and the sharp line of his jaw, stubble tickling his fingertips.

When they finally separate, Ronan’s pale skin is flushed, and Adam’s own cheeks are warm enough that he knows he is as well. He thinks, for a moment, of asking Ronan to stay, but it’s too new, too fragile, and he wants this to proceed at a careful pace. Or so he tells himself, but now that he’s kissed Ronan he wants more, so much more, more than he ever imagined.

Ronan reaches out, runs a thumb over Adam’s cheekbone. He touches Adam like he can’t believe Adam is really there. Then he smiles, and it’s something different, something softer and yet more dangerous than Adam has ever seen before. It makes his heart go still in anticipation, it makes him forget everything else.

“Good night,” Ronan says, his voice low, and then he leaves.

As soon as the door closes behind him, all the dangers of this, all the possible consequences, circle in Adam’s head. But none of it seems real, none of it sinks in. Only those kisses, Ronan’s smile, his hands on Adam. That’s all that matters.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ronan and Adam grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumping up the rating. There's explicit sexual content in this part!

The next day they take up their new positions. The next day, everything is different.

Adam has already been learning, through the week of Gansey’s ascension. How to speak to nobles, what alliances are strong, who hates whom. He did his best to study before, too, when they were are the Academy - the kingdom’s relations with other nations, their trade alliances, all the things he would need to know as Gansey’s advisor. But he had other concerns then, other classes, and now this is what his life must revolve around. Now he really has to learn.

Ronan is in the same position. As Gansey’s knight-captain, he has to learn how to command the palace guard, where the trouble spots are in the kingdom, how to deal with those things - as well as keeping himself in physical shape to fight, since the prince’s knight cannot be stuck behind a desk.

Gansey is still only the crown prince, not the king, but he takes his place as a strong figure in the politics of the realm. His father will consult with him, the nobles will come to him for favors and guidance and grievances that they believe he’ll be more sympathetic toward than the king. In the hands of another person, perhaps, the role of the crown prince could be nothing more than a pleasure-seeker and a fool, and there have been princes in the past who chose that path, who then became kings who did the same.

But Gansey has never been the sort of person who could do that. He may not love his fate, he may be happier buried in books and ferreting out old mysteries, but his sense of responsibility is too strong to allow the kingdom to fester in his hands. Adam loves him for that, even as it means they all have plenty of work ahead of them as they ease into their new positions.

Their daily lives will fall into a completely different rhythm now, utterly unlike their lives at the Academy. Adam is confident that he can acclimate, determined that he will give no one any reason to doubt Gansey’s choice, but he knows it won’t be easy. He already knows what most of them think of him, behind their careful politeness as they attempt to get a feel for him. For how easily he might be manipulated, for whether he’s an easy path to the prince.

He isn’t. Most of them are realizing that. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try - or that they won’t simply dismiss him completely when they realize it, which is also something Adam has no intention of allowing.

He has a lot on his mind, a lot of things to consider and learn and evaluate, and that should be enough for anyone.

But of course there is also Ronan.

They all meet for an early lunch in Gansey’s chambers, an opportunity for him to give a rousing speech about the future, everything that lies before them, all the things they can do now and how well they’ll surely do. Even Adam finds it inspiring, but he’s distracted by the presence of Ronan across the table, the memory of Ronan’s lips on his.

He glances across once, a quick flicker of his eyes, only to find Ronan looking back at him. Rather than embarrassment, all he can feel is warmth, and for a moment he forgets Gansey is speaking at all. He feels like a fool, like a schoolboy infatuated for the first time. He’s never felt like this before, for all that he’s had brief entanglements here and there. None of them were Ronan, none of them were someone he trusts and knows and has seen all sides of.

None of them were someone he wants this badly.

He thinks Ronan smiles for just a moment, the barest quirk of his thin lips, and then Adam has to look away before he betrays himself by smiling foolishly while Gansey is in the midst of a stirring passage on improving the rights of workers. It’s something Adam wholeheartedly approves of, but probably does not deserve the sort of expression he wants to make when Ronan looks at him like that.

There is so much work ahead of them. They go their separate ways after lunch, in order to begin - or at least that is the intention. In fact, Gansey disappears to meet with his mother and Ronan lingers, falling into step with Adam as he makes his way to his study.

Ronan should be heading to the guard barracks to meet with the king’s current knight-captain, but a few moments can be spared. They say nothing to each other while they walk, passing nobles and servants and guards. Ronan follows Adam in when they reach his study - a small room, already littered with books and papers, but private.

For another moment, there is silence. Adam is uncertain - and then he realizes, with another rush of delight, that Ronan is tongue-tied. There’s a look on his face that says he is searching for words he can’t find. That perhaps he wants to ask about the night before, the kiss, all that passed between them.

Adam wonders if he ought to be nervous as well. If he ought to be wondering if it was real, if it meant something. But he isn’t - he knows it meant something to him, and he knows that Ronan would not have done it at all if it meant nothing, if it were a joke or a passing fancy. That’s not how Ronan Lynch works.

He makes it easy on Ronan, having no desire to play games. He reaches out to take Ronan’s hand in his own - Ronan’s knuckles scarred, his blunt nails broken here and there from practice, sword callouses on his palm not so dissimilar from the work callouses still fading on Adam’s hands.

“Shall I court you?” Adam says, looking up at him. There’s a lightness to his voice, enough to make it almost a joke, but he will if that’s what Ronan wants. He’s never been serious with anyone, never close with a man before at all, and he can’t say he knows how it’s usually done. But then, he doesn’t think Ronan does either.

Ronan scowls but doesn’t let go of Adam’s hand. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I could bring you flowers,” Adam says, letting his lips quirk now. “Commission a poet to write odes to your blue eyes.”

“You’re a little shit,” Ronan says, and then he draws Adam close and kisses him.

If Adam had considered for even a moment that the night before was a fluke - which he hasn’t - this kiss would utterly ruin that theory. He feels it down to his toes, pieces of him coming alive that have been fallow for years. Forever. A kiss like that is a cliche, a romantic fiction, or so he once thought. Until Ronan.

They kiss again, Adam’s other hand rising to rest on the fabric of Ronan’s tunic sleeve, finely made despite its simple appearance. He could do this for hours, he thinks, but Ronan has an appointment to keep and Adam himself will be meeting with the king’s trade minister before long. 

It seems terribly unfair.

When they part, any nervousness is gone from Ronan’s eyes. He smiles, fierce and sharp, and Adam’s heart rabbits in his chest. This is the beginning of something, and to Adam it feels like something big, and he should be afraid but he isn’t.

Ronan leaves, but that smile and those kisses linger, and Adam feels alive all day long.

It doesn’t end there, of course. As they ease into their new lives, he and Ronan ease into something else, as well. They’re always discreet, always careful - the scandal of discovery is something neither of them can risk, not with Adam trying to secure his standing at court, not with Ronan still fighting for his birthright. But it’s like Adam thought. They already spent time together, already spent time _alone_ together. No one questions if they continue to do so, no one wonders what they might be doing.

They meet in Adam’s rooms sometimes, Ronan’s rooms occasionally. Ronan stops by his study to press him against the shelves and kiss him breathless. Adam weaves him another favor out of magic and leather, ties it on his wrist, and he wears it everywhere. They meet in the garden Ronan showed him that first night, a garden hardly anyone goes to, a garden with enough hidden nooks that they can kiss out in the light of day sheltered by sun-dappled leaves. They walk the paths together, close enough to touch but not touching, at least until Adam pulls Ronan into cover.

They spend days here and there with Gansey, when time can be stolen from the work they must do, still investigating his pet projects. He doesn’t seem to notice anything, not the careful looks or the way Ronan will sometimes stand just a little too close. Noah is typically energetic, Henry may notice but says nothing, and Blue is too distracted by Gansey and the ridiculousness of her friends’ new lives to realize anything.

It’s difficult, sometimes, to keep this a secret. But both of them know it’s the only thing that can be done. Adam rebuffs any interest from the ladies of the court, which Ronan has been doing all along, and it’s not particularly remarkable - neither of them have ever been the type to entertain such things.

Except with each other. Adam should not be startled to realize that Ronan has a deeply-hidden romantic streak, but he is. He finds little gifts, flowers and feathers and books. Ronan knows the things he likes to eat and has them sent to him when he’s been working too hard, forgetting to take care of himself. He kisses Adam’s fingers, touches him like something precious, and no one has ever touched him like that before.

Adam tries to return it as best he can, though he has no gift for romance. He makes salves for the bruises Ronan picks up, watches him practice, distracts him from his darker thoughts. When Ronan has to travel to a border outpost, Adam scries for him before he leaves. They work well together, he thinks, and nothing has ever felt quite like this before.

They still bicker sometimes, they still have sharp edges, and what gives Adam pause sometimes is that they do not speak about what’s between them.

Part of that is on him. He doesn’t know the limits, doesn’t know how an affair like this is supposed to work. Between a lady and a lord, romance would be easy - he would court her, win her favor, make an offer for her hand. But they can’t marry, can’t publicly court one another, and Adam has no interest in playing those sorts of games anyway, not when he already knows what he wants.

But Ronan doesn’t talk about it either. That’s not really a surprise - Ronan is not terribly fond of words when he can choose actions instead, and his every action shows his regard for Adam. All the stolen kisses, the late nights spend amusing each other over wine and bread, the quiet walks in the garden. Ronan lifting his spirits, providing keenly insulting observations of the lords Adam likes the least. Perhaps they shouldn’t need to speak of anything. Perhaps they should only be, and be together.

Except it isn’t that easy, because they also haven’t gone any further than kissing.

Oh, it’s heated kissing - that’s certain. Adam finds himself nearly in Ronan’s lap once or twice, and Ronan’s hands wander more than is entirely appropriate. Ronan presses kisses down the line of his neck, Adam lets his teeth brush the curve of Ronan’s jaw. But anytime Adam tries to press it a bit further, Ronan backs away. Adam lets him, of course - he would never try to push anything on Ronan - but he doesn’t know what to think of it.

At the beginning, it made sense. Things were new, uncertain. But after weeks of stolen kisses sliding into months of private moments, he’s beginning to question himself.

He wants Ronan, very badly. He knows that Ronan wants him - Ronan never hesitates to initiate their intimacy, his lips finding Adam’s nearly the instant they’re alone. But for whatever reason, Ronan is unwilling to take it further, and Adam doesn’t know why.

It’s nighttime, Ronan in Adam’s rooms, his hands on Adam’s waist and his lips on Adam’s neck. In the morning he’ll leave, traveling to a village that’s sent reports of bandits in the area, taking a contingent of the guard along. It’s a simple task, one that will only take him away for a few days, but even when it’s just a few days Adam notices his absence.

They were talking not so long ago, after Adam returned from scrying. He’d seen little, and expects Ronan’s trip to be dull, but it’s far better to scry and see nothing than to send Ronan into possible danger with no warning. That devolved into kisses and the careful touch of hands, the curl of desire in Adam’s belly and the growing determination to do something about it.

He pushes Ronan away from him just enough for Adam to capture his lips once more, a lingering, heated thing, and then he meets Ronan’s eyes and says, quietly, “Stay the night.”

Ronan’s eyes are piercing, hungry, and for a moment Adam is sure that he will. That he’ll pull Adam close again, touch him in all the places he wants to be touched, that they’ll be able to explore each other and finally, finally share that most personal intimacy.

But he steps back instead, shakes his head, looks away, and Adam’s stomach twists.

He knows Ronan wants him. So why, then? Is it something about him, is there something wrong with him that makes Ronan refuse? Is it nervousness? Or is it religion? Ronan still goes to services weekly, where the priests speak against exactly the sort of thing the two of them are engaging in. Is it that he doesn’t want to take that final step, commit that great sin? Is it that he thinks once they’ve done that they can’t go back?

Adam would understand that. He’d hate it, not being much of a believer himself, but he would understand it. But he needs to know, he can’t stand this uncertainty. He wants to be wanted, he wants _Ronan_ to want him, and even if Ronan will never actually take him to bed he wants to know it isn’t because of him. He needs to know that there is not something inherently unwantable about Adam Parrish.

“Why?” he asks, and the question sounds colder than he meant it to. He doesn’t want to pressure Ronan into anything, he doesn’t want to punish him for his unwillingness, but it feels like he’s being rejected every time. Now more than ever.

Ronan runs his hand over his head, a frustrated gesture, as he tries to find the words. Adam knows he doesn’t like talking, that his most natural form of expression is physical, but right now that isn’t enough.

“I don’t -” he starts, then shakes his head with a sharp movement and stops. “Fuck. I want to. But I need you to be sure.”

Adam’s brows draw down, he crosses his arms, anger sudden and heated within him. He ignores it as best he can. “You don’t think I’m sure? _I’m_ the one who invited _you_ to stay.”

“I know,” Ronan says, and he meets Adam’s eyes. Adam isn’t sure what to read there. “But if we do this, it’s not - fuck, I’ve never done this before, Parrish. With anyone. I need you to be sure this is what you want because I’m not fucking around.”

“You think I’m playing with you?” Adam understands, he does, but that doesn’t make his anger at the idea any less real. He wants to explode, wants to yell at Ronan, wants to demand answers. What does he think of Adam, that he thinks that? Adam’s never given him any reason to believe that’s how he views relationships, that it’s how he views _their_ relationship. He knows it’s common for nobles to believe that the lower classes are loose with their morals, that a peasant’s virtue is less than that of someone with higher birth, but he’s never thought Ronan believed that.

He’s never done this either. Oh, he’s kissed girls, and even gone a bit further, but Adam always had his future to strive for. He couldn’t risk the possibility of ending up tied to his tiny village because he’d slipped up with a girl and had a child, and none of the village girls would want that either - Adam was good enough to kiss for practice or fun, maybe, but with his family he was good for nothing more. That wasn’t exactly a conducive environment for romance, and Adam’s difficulty with trust didn’t help. Minor, occasional experimentation was as far as anything went, with both parties well aware that was the extent of it.

What does Ronan think of him, that he would think Adam would simply fall into bed with him and have it mean little?

“I know you aren’t,” Ronan says sharply, and he pauses, and for a moment Adam thinks they might actually fight. But when Ronan speaks again his words are careful, measured, almost hesitant. “Shit. Parrish -” he takes a breath, looks away. “Since the beginning there’s only been you.”

Adam doesn’t say anything. He can’t.

“I’ve wanted your oblivious, stupid ass since Gansey showed up with you following along like a lost puppy.” Now Ronan looks at him again, and there’s a nervous defiance to his face, like he’s daring Adam to laugh or to say something flippant. “I know you’re not playing, but this is a really fucking big deal for me.”

“You hated me at first,” Adam says weakly. He remembers Ronan’s pointed comments, his intimidating stare, his standoffishness. There was no possible way to interpret that as Ronan _wanting_ him. Or at least, that’s what he’s always thought.

“I’ve spent my whole life being told this is a sin and knowing I was already a sinner because of it. It was a fucking thousand times worse when you showed up, and it all-” he waves a hand, sudden, frustrated. “I don’t know. It got real. I knew I liked men before but I didn’t really fucking like anyone so it wasn’t a big deal. Then you were there and Gansey thought you were God’s shiniest golden shit and I didn’t want to deal with any of it.”

It’s a lot to take in. Adam didn’t know - he had no idea. There was no way of knowing, he thinks, no way of reading Ronan’s true feelings, especially not back when they barely knew each other. But things rearrange in his mind, actions suddenly weighted with new meaning. He doesn’t remember the exact moment he realized Ronan looked at him differently than the others, but now he thinks it must have been going on for far longer than he’d known.

“So I just need you to be real fucking sure, Parrish,” Ronan says, defiant now, shoulders set. He looks at Adam for only a moment longer, and Adam looks back, and then he leaves.

Adam wonders, after Ronan has left, if he should have stopped him. But he doesn’t think either of them wanted that, not really. Ronan needs him to be sure, and Ronan knows him well enough to know that in order to be sure he needs time to think. Adam is not an impulsive creature. He thinks things through, takes them apart and puts them back together, looks at them from every angle until he knows his answer. If he’d stopped Ronan, if he’d insisted that he _was_ sure, Ronan would probably have stayed, but he’d always have wondered if Adam had said it only because he felt he had to.

So he thinks it’s best that he didn’t stop Ronan. But even so, he feels viciously lonely that night, he replays that moment over and over again in his head. Reaching out, pulling Ronan back, kissing him. All the ways it could have gone.

The next morning, Ronan rides out early. Adam watches as they leave through the palace gates, and Ronan raises a hand in farewell. He’s giving Adam this time to think.

And Adam does. He thinks about all the moments that he now sees differently, all the meaning behind gestures that he didn’t know there was meaning behind. He thinks about Ronan, growing up, aware of his own preference for men but not truly acknowledging it until he met Adam. He thinks about Ronan’s heart, a devoted and shockingly fragile thing, and how of all people _he_ is the one who could damage it most.

He thinks about Ronan fearing that Adam didn’t know what he was in for, didn’t know the depth of Ronan’s feelings or the seriousness of his intentions. And it’s true that Adam didn’t understand, but that doesn’t mean he was taking this lightly. He hopes Ronan knows that, truly knows it. Because the most basic truth of the matter, the one that Adam finally settles on, is that it’s already too late.

It’s true, they haven’t had sex. But though Ronan may place a value on it that surpasses all else - well, he was raised that way, it’s no real surprise - to Adam, they’ve already gone far enough. To Adam, it’s trust that’s the more valuable thing, and he realizes he already trusts Ronan more than any other creature walking the earth. Ronan has seen all the parts of him that he hides even from Gansey, knows more of his secrets than anyone else. And Adam trusts him with that, and with his kisses and his affection and his body, and to him it’s all the same.

But he understands. He does understand that to Ronan this is the last gate, the final chance to end things before they go too far, before neither of them can back out without destroying each other and themselves.

He doesn’t think that’s true, though. He thinks they’ve already passed that gate. If - god forbid - Ronan were never to return from this trip, Adam does not think he would recover, not really. If Kavinsky had succeeded in killing him, Adam would have lost a part of himself. Even if they never touch each other again, Ronan has managed to burrow deep beneath Adam’s skin, tangle himself around Adam’s heart, in a way that can’t be removed without bone-deep scars.

His thoughts are consumed with Ronan for those few days he’s gone, enough so that Gansey comments on Adam’s unusual absentmindedness. He tries to concentrate more after that, tries to stop distracting himself, but it isn’t easy.

It’s too many days. Adam has figured himself out long before Ronan returns, and he spends the rest of his time counting the moments, burning up inside. Keeping any of that from showing once Ronan is actually back requires a true feat of strength, considering that all of Gansey’s court dines together that night. They don’t have a moment to themselves until everyone has parted ways, until after Ronan has told the (not terribly interesting, even to him) tale of his journey, until the moon is high in the sky and the palace corridors are quiet.

No one is watching when he knocks on Ronan’s door. Ronan opens it to him, and no one sees him enter.

They look at each other, Ronan’s eyes searching Adam’s face for an answer. Adam’s lips quirk into a smile.

“I’m real fucking sure,” he says, and the sight of Ronan’s razor-sharp smile is all the reward he could want. 

Ronan kisses him, hungry and fierce, and there’s no sign that he’s holding anything back anymore. His hands slide under the loose shirt Adam is wearing, every touch leaving a trail of fire on his skin. Adam is not shy either, touching Ronan the way he couldn’t until now, pressing close and kissing him until they can feel each other’s desire.

Then Adam takes Ronan’s hand and leads him out of the antechamber. Ronan’s rooms are always strewn with a collection of things, pieces of armor and discarded clothing, papers and empty goblets, but Adam picks his way through them like he belongs there. He leads Ronan to the bedroom, turns to him, and deliberately disrobes, piece by piece.

He takes his time. He likes the way Ronan is looking at him, the way Ronan seems incapable of looking away. Adam has never felt handsome, has never considered himself beautiful, but Ronan looks at him like he is. Like he wants nothing more than to look at Adam, to touch him. Like seeing him in only flesh is a gift, despite Adam’s thin fingers and bony hips and the scars left by his father’s anger that seems so long ago now.

Ronan reaches out as if he isn’t sure he’s allowed. He runs his fingers up the outside of Adam’s thigh, across his belly, down. Not quite touching him, but looking. Adam responds by tugging at Ronan’s shirt, then his belt, undressing him until they’re both naked, there together in that room.

Ronan is achingly handsome. He’s all lean muscle and pale skin, tattoo curving over his shoulders. Adam can see the scar, too, from that first tournament. He can see other scars, relics of practices and races, a map of all the danger Ronan has thrown himself into. He wants to trace each one, memorize where they are and what they mean. There will be time for that, he thinks, with a thrill of exhilaration.

He pushes Ronan back to the bed, then down onto it, and Ronan lets him. He presses himself against Ronan, sliding their bodies together, feeling Ronan begin to stiffen against his thigh. Between kisses, Adam pauses only long enough to make sure this is all right, but Ronan does not seem interested in more reassurances. He’s waited long enough - they both have.

Ronan’s hands map his body, touching him in places he’s never been touched before, laying claim to parts of Adam that he gives up willingly. Adam explores as well, tracing bits of Ronan’s tattoo, biting gently at the jut of his hipbone, teasing a nipple. 

Adam has wanted this for so long, though, and Ronan for even longer. Soon he can’t take the sublime torture of Ronan’s hands on his skin anymore, soon he needs more. He kisses Ronan, hungry and a little sloppy, and slides a hand down between them to take hold of Ronan’s cock. The sound Ronan makes at his touch is exquisite. Adam could listen to it forever, and so he strokes Ronan slowly, drawing another moan from him.

Ronan’s hand finds his hip, dragging him closer, and Adam’s own cock is hard, leaking droplets of liquid. He moves his hips until his cock is sliding against Ronan’s, until he can take them both in hand. He’s never done this before, but it’s not so different from doing it for himself - only better, a thousand times better. Ronan’s hips move in unconscious jerks as Adam strokes them both, fluid slicking his hand, his own breath coming in soft gasps.

Ronan lets him set the pace, but his hands on Adam tighten in encouragement as Adam speeds up. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, soft and low and fervent in Adam’s ear, and Adam has to bite his lip to control himself, because the sound of Ronan’s voice in that moment is almost too much.

The heat builds between them, Adam’s cock slick against Ronan’s, his hand around them both, Ronan’s hands gripping Adam’s thighs, his ass. Adam has never felt like this before, the intensity of it. It’s _Ronan_ , and he wants this so badly, and as the pleasure crests he forgets everything. All the thoughts usually filling Adam’s head are gone, all his questions and second-guess and analysis, replaced with desire and affection and a deep, aching, wordless need.

He gasps when he comes, sudden and almost unexpected, the climax flooding his body. Ronan comes only a moment later, while Adam is still dazed and breathless, and he pulls Adam in for a hungry, biting kiss.

Afterward, they clean up. Afterward, they curl together under the covers of Ronan’s bed, Adam’s head on his shoulder, Ronan’s fingers slowly stroking through his hair. They talk quietly, and they sleep for awhile, and when they wake up Ronan’s hand slides between Adam’s legs and he presses Adam back into the sheets, and eventually they need to clean up again.

In the early hours of the morning, Adam slips out of Ronan’s room and back to his own, unseen.

He never expected to find happiness, but somehow he seems to have stumbled upon it anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam visits Ronan's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a couple days later than I wanted it to be, I'm sorry! I got sick and then almost immediately left on a trip. Hopefully no delays from now on. Thank you so much for all the comments!

Adam’s never felt like this before. He thinks these feelings are supposed to be ephemeral, fleeting, but the more time he spends with Ronan the more solid they become.

They do their duties, of course. Adam provides Gansey with carefully researched and thought-out advice, and Ronan coordinates his personal guard and improves his own skills both in sword and strategy. Adam journeys to parts of the kingdom he once only dreamed of seeing, sometimes with Gansey, sometimes alone, sometimes with Ronan - or Noah or Henry, but most of the time Adam is at Gansey’s side, and Ronan is not far.

They negotiate treaties, sometimes, or observe while the king does so. They attend feasts and weddings and tournaments, which Ronan sometimes enters and nearly always wins. He is well-known for his skill and for his easy, uninterested discarding of the rose afterward, still utterly unwilling to play the romantic knight of tales. It always makes Adam smile.

Adam does not become more fond of the nobles, exactly, but he grows used to their ways of doing things. The subtle maneuvering, the powerplays. The condescension directed at him that very slowly begins to yield to respect. He knows it’ll take years before he’s treated with the same unconscious respect that the king’s advisors are, or that Gansey is, but as the weeks and then months pass he can see the slow changes being wrought.

He is skilled, he deserves to be there. Some of them are starting to believe that. Even Adam is starting to believe that.

And with Ronan at his side, it’s easy to not care what any of them think anyway.

They’re still careful, and Adam has heard no murmurings of rumors about them. He thinks he’d know - he’s come to be seen by the servants as something of an advocate, someone who can understand their concerns and bring them to the ears of the prince. That isn’t strictly Adam’s job, but he chooses not to forget his origins. He chooses to do what he can for those who are now lower than him, because he knows it was only through a combination of magic, luck, and bone-deep tenacity that he’s gotten where he is now.

He thinks he’d know if there were whispers about him and Ronan. The servants would know before anyone, and enough of them trust him that they’d pass the rumor on, knowing the damage it could do to either of them. Adam doesn’t think Gansey would turn him out of his position, but he can only imagine what the nobles would think of him - and more than that, he worries what it would do to Ronan’s reputation, a far more fragile and important thing.

But no one seems to suspect. They’re careful, touching each other only behind closed doors, slipping out of each other’s rooms in the dark of night. Adam is too practical to allow the difficulty of it to cause him pain, too level to allow himself to wish it could be otherwise. Yes, it would be nice to wake up next to Ronan, it would be pleasant to be able to kiss him for luck before a tournament, like some of the ladies do with their knights. But that isn’t the sort of life they can lead, and what Adam has now is already so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Their friendship remains the same, easy and warm, but their careful romance has blossomed into something passionate. Something both fiery and steady at the same time, something that leaves Adam aching for Ronan’s touch while also seeking him out to calm his frustrations. They make love with heated intensity, then lay awake, talking about foolish things until the night grows thin and one of them must return to his own room. They walk in the gardens, talking of Gansey’s business, then kiss in a shadowed corner.

Every time Adam sees Ronan now he feels lighter. Happier. Like this is something for him, this is something magical he’s found all on his own. And Ronan, it seems, feels the same. He’s as dark and dangerous as ever, but Adam now sees even more of his hidden warmer side - his care, his loyalty. His sometimes ridiculous sense of humor, his quiet romantic streak.

They argue still, and sometimes fight. Adam has a coldness within him and Ronan is full of sharp edges, and neither of them are practiced at this sort of thing. But the anger doesn’t last, resolved by unspoken apologies or unmentioned gifts or rough, angry lovemaking that turns into something more tender.

The whole thing is impossible. Adam is beginning to believe that Ronan, more than anyone, is a master of impossible things.

He tries, in his own way, to return some of the happiness and impossibility that Ronan has given to him. It takes careful argument, a good amount of time, and a private meeting with a lesser noble, but finally a courier brings him the reply he was waiting for. It’s unexpected, on a day when he’s preparing for Gansey’s departure - a retreat to his father’s country estate for a hunting trip, nothing either Adam or Ronan will accompany him on but something that they both handle the preparations for. Adam easing his way with plans and schedules, Ronan coordinating his guard.

So they are both busy, but the arrival of the letter shatters Adam’s concentration. He knows he won’t get anything done until it’s taken care of.

He finds Ronan in the guards’ quarters, assigning Gansey’s detail for the trip. Adam waits until he is finished, spending the time watching him. It’s remarkable how Ronan has somehow grown into his role without fundamentally changing who he is. His skill with weapons has earned him respect, and his rude and uncompromising manner is in fact rather effective when it comes to giving commands. Gansey’s personal guard all either respects or fears him, along with most of the rest of the soldiers at the palace. It’s nice to see, in Adam’s opinion. He likes watching Ronan do things he’s good at.

When they’re alone, Adam approaches, pleased by the way Ronan’s eyes and attention go to him immediately. He holds out the letter, and is suddenly overcome by uncertainty and something a little like shyness.

“Here,” he says, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

Ronan’s brow creases. He takes the letter from Adam’s hand. The seal is already broken, of course, so it only takes him a moment to read the contents. Adam watches his face, watches the confusion and then the clearing of it, the way his eyes widen, his mouth curves in pleasant disbelief. He lets out a breath.

“Fuck. Parrish, really?”

Adam smiles then, more at the look on Ronan’s face than anything else. “Really. I mean, it’s not much - just a visit -”

“ _Fuck.,_ ” Ronan says, and he breaks one of their cardinal rules and draws Adam close for a searing kiss, right there in broad daylight where anyone could see. But no one’s there, no one does, and so Adam lets himself enjoy it - though he steps away carefully when they part, putting a reasonable distance between them.

“It took some time, but I convinced them that since the lands will almost certainly be yours one day, and likely soon, that you ought to be given the opportunity to visit them yourself and see that they’re being tended according to your wishes,” Adam says. The letter is brief, businesslike, but it’s all that’s needed: permission for Ronan to visit his inheritance, the country estate he was raised on. His home.

“You’re coming,” Ronan says. He doesn’t reach for Adam again, but his eyes are clear and intense. “This is because of you. And - you should come.”

Adam thinks that what’s unsaid is that Ronan wants him to come. And he wants to go, he wants to see the place that made Ronan who he is, the place he loves so deeply. More practically, perhaps, Adam wants to see the place he’s been arguing for all this time.

It’s not technically allowed. Ronan is meant to visit alone, spend a day or two there inspecting the estate and its lands. But it’s not forbidden, either. And they will have time while Gansey is gone, time that Adam would normally spend studying and working and Ronan would normally spend training. Gansey will gladly give them permission to leave instead.

Really, Gansey should come too. Adam knows he used to visit Ronan there when they were younger, that he likely has good memories there. But his time is already spoken for, and - well, Adam can’t be terribly sad about that. He treasures the moments they all have together, when Gansey doesn’t have to be the prince and they can all just be friends again, but he treasures the moments he has with Ronan, too. Just the two of them.

Maybe it’s selfish, but he wants this. 

He smiles, the barest curve of his lips. “If you want me to come, I will.”

Ronan grins, sharp and pleased, his eyes lit with happiness. Adam feels his heart stutter in his chest at the sight of that smile, and he knows he did well.

Their preparations take much less time than Gansey’s, since it will only be the two of them. Ronan’s lands are a little more than a day’s ride from the capital, but situated in such a way that few bother to make the journey. They’re tucked in an out of the way corner of the kingdom, lake on one side and thick woods on the other, the land wild and mostly uncultivated save for farms here and there. The roads there are not in the best repair, but they aren’t particularly dangerous either - with few travelers, outlaws have no real way to make a living.

Adam isn’t worried anyway. The kingdom is, by and large, a peaceful place, and he has little to fear when riding with Ronan. It’s a pleasant journey, the weather fine and his horse biddable. For all his work in the stables back at home, Adam barely knew how to ride before the Academy - where, after awhile, Ronan began to teach him. More out of boredom than anything, Adam thought at the time, though now he thinks there may have been a bit more to it. He remembers Ronan’s hand on his, helping him with the reins, and smiles to think of it.

They spend on night on the road, and they don’t stop at an inn. Both of them know well enough how to make camp, Ronan because it’s part of his training and Adam because he needed to learn, because it was a simple tool for survival. It isn’t a money-saving measure this time, it’s simply because neither of them want the chance of discovery. Neither of them want anything but to share a bedroll, to wake up next to each other for once. And so they do.

They arrive the next morning. He expects Ronan’s lands to be beautiful. He expects the rolling hills, the wild meadows and carefully tended farmland. He expects it to be the polar opposite of the poor, tired land he grew up on. And it’s true, it’s all of that - but it’s so much more, too.

The estate Ronan grew up on is less like a castle and more like a large, open farmhouse. An estate built with no care for defense but only for comfort and belonging. It has no walls, only rolling hills of grass dotted with cows and sheep. The lake, on one side, is clear and blue, reflecting the sunlight. On the other is the forest, deep and dark and mysterious, and that’s what really shakes Adam.

Because it isn’t simply a forest. It’s _his_ forest, or part of it. And that shouldn’t be possible - his village is far away, halfway across the kingdom from here. There are cities and roads between, stretches of land with nothing remotely resembling a forest. It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s true. Adam can feel it in his blood, thrumming through his bones as they dismount. It’s welcoming Ronan back, and welcoming him as well, its magician.

He doesn’t say anything to Ronan yet, not about that, because when he turns to Ronan he sees the change wrought within him just by being here. By being home.

There’s a softness to his features, a weight lifted from him that Adam didn’t realize was even there. It was such a part of him that he’d never noticed, but now - here - it’s gone. Because this is Ronan’s home, because it’s a piece of his heart. It’s something Adam can’t really understand, because he’s never had a place like that, but it’s something that his own heart aches to see. 

Ronan is happy. It’s clear in every movement, every glance. The smile that comes more easily, the way he reaches out to catch Adam by the arm and lead him to the house. The ease of his stride, the light in his eyes. Adam could watch him like this forever.

The house and the lands have been cared for well. There’s a tiny village not far, the peasants under the protection of the Lynch family, and that village provides an old man and his wife who have been working as caretakers. It can provide servants as well, when the family is in residence, but Ronan refuses the offer. They can only stay for a couple days, and neither of them want anything but to be alone in this place. With each other.

It’s clear too that the Lynch family has been missed. Ronan is greeted with a subdued delight, exclamations of how he’s grown. Over-familiarity, really, from peasants to their lord, but Ronan makes no move to reassert his position. He shrugs instead, scowls a little, but allows it - and Adam can see the pleasure in his eyes.

It’s so very different from the place Adam grew up. Part of him finds it hard to imagine Ronan here, running and playing, growing up wild and free but so protected and loved as well. The people love him, even the land seems to love him. It would be odd, given the sharp-edged warrior Ronan has become - but to Adam, it makes sense. Losing this place is part of what made Ronan into what he is, and growing up here is part of that as well. It gave him the space to be wild, to be truly himself.

No wonder Ronan wants so desperately to return here.

After their long journey, they eat, provided with food for the rest of the day by the caretaker and his wife. They return to the village and Adam and Ronan are left alone, alone in this beautiful place with only each other for company.

It’s wonderful.

Ronan is carefree in a way he so rarely is in the capital. He shows Adam the many rooms of his childhood home, lived-in and beautiful. His bedroom, the kitchen, the cluttered library. The grand stairs to the upper floors, one banister carved with initials from successive generations of Lynch children. The windows out over the fields, the herb garden, the stables. Every place has a story, even if Ronan doesn’t tell it, and Adam can feel the comforting weight of history here. Of family. Things he never knew, but things that, for a few moments, he’s a part of.

Ronan goes silent when they pass his father’s bedroom. It’s been years, but Adam knows the loss is still painful. He doesn’t say anything, simply reaches out and takes Ronan’s hand - a thing he can do nowhere else, that he has only ever done before when they’re behind closed and locked doors. But here he can do it if he likes.

Ronan’s fingers tangle with his. The darkness doesn’t lift from his brow, but it doesn’t crush him either. He turns to Adam and says, “I want to show you something.”

They leave the house and walk across the soft grass. The edge of the forest is ahead, and Adam can feel it whispering in his ears. He’s about to say something, but Ronan speaks first.

“Nobody knows about this but my family and the people here.” His voice is clipped, as if it’s not easy for him. “I think maybe - fuck, I think Kavinsky found out, I think that’s why he was so fucking weird about me. I don’t think he really knew or else he wouldn’t have given up, but maybe he guessed. If he wanted power that bad-” Ronan shrugs, a sudden sharp movement, and his stride lengthens. Adam is briefly annoyed as he struggles to keep up, but it quickly fades.

They walk into the trees. Adam feels the magic surge within him, and he catches his breath in an audible gasp. Ronan looks at him with something like satisfaction in his eyes.

“Thought you might feel it,” he says. “Magician.”

“What is this?” Adam says, but he thinks he knows. It _is_ his forest. Pieces are scattered across the kingdom, the roots going deep throughout the land. The one near his home was magical, yes, and his sacrifice gave it more power, but this - this is the heart of it. He can feel the strength and purity of the magic flowing around him.

“My dad always said we had to protect it. That it’s why we’re nobles at all, that it’s our job to keep it safe so no one can use it.” Ronan reaches out to brush his fingers across a leaf. The expression on his face is one of quiet yearning, and knowing this rearranges Adam’s view of him. Knowing that he grew up around this, that this was a part of his life.

“We can’t use the magic, not the way you can. Or those other witches, I guess.” Ronan shrugs. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by that. It makes sense, to Adam - a lot of things do now. The way Ronan distrusts anyone who claims to use magic, and the fact that his family doesn’t use magic themselves, despite protecting this place. It would be too tempting, he thinks. 

The forest owns Adam, in a way, for all that he usually doesn’t think of it that way. The power it holds is something that it shares with him, something that it could take away if it chose, though it never has. But to someone else, with the ability to reach that power and nothing to limit them, someone who wanted power - someone like Kavinsky - being able to reach the heart of the forest like this would be a valuable thing.

Adam can feel it, the seductive pull of that power, and he knows it would be a thousand times more tempting for anyone who wasn’t already a part of it. No wonder Ronan is so fiercely protective of his home, so wary of magic. 

No wonder Declan wants to be certain Ronan can care for it the way it needs.

In the capital, Adam has to concentrate, has to scry and center himself to use his magic. Here, he could do it in a moment. He could close his eyes and see whatever he needs to see, he could spin the energy into whatever he needs. It’s intoxicating, and it would be dangerous if he were anything but what he is. If he were anything but another creature of the forest, like the animals he can feel around them, just out of sight. Even with roots holding him down, it’s almost too much.

It’s an incredible thing, a frightening and intoxicating thing.

He looks at Ronan. “You didn’t have to show this to me.”

Ronan is quiet for a moment, looking back. “Yeah. I did.”

Adam steps close, then, and kisses him. He loses himself in the kiss, they lose themselves in each other. Everything seems more vibrant here, halfway between real and unreal. Adam feels almost oversensitive, like every brush of Ronan’s fingers on his skin might set him aflame.

He doesn’t have words for this. For being here, for knowing that Ronan trusts him enough to bring him here. So he kisses Ronan instead, and puts all of himself into it. Ronan’s arms go around him, they press close to each other, and from there it’s natural.

The mossy ground is soft beneath Adam’s back. It should be uncomfortable, doing this on the ground, but the forest seems to mold itself around them, softening the ground, weaving branches to block the sunlight. It’s a cool day, but even after Adam allows Ronan to unlace his tunic, even after their clothes are in a messy pile next to them, neither of them are cold.

His fingers trace Ronan’s tattoo, the twists and hooks and curves of it, and Adam sees tree branches and wild creatures. His mouth follows his fingers, pressing kisses and soft bites to Ronan’s skin, marveling in the sounds he can draw from Ronan.

There’s a weight to it, an intensity. They’re familiar with each other’s bodies now, quiet explorations in each other’s beds at night, Ronan locking the door of Adam’s study and bending him over his desk, Adam sinking to his knees in a deserted corner of the gardens when he knows no one will see. But this is different. This feels like everything else does in the forest - magical.

Adam settles back against the soft ground, pulling Ronan down with him, above him now. They kiss again and again, and Ronan’s mouth trails down his throat, sharp teeth brushing the soft skin there. Adam spreads his legs and Ronan settles between them, natural, as his kisses turn hungrier.

They’re both hard, every touch spurring them onward. Adam reaches out and all it takes is a thought, a silent request. The forest, the magic around them, responds. His fingers brush a carved wooden pot, tucked in the nook of a tree root. He presses it into Ronan’s hand, and Ronan opens it with a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck,” he says, somewhere between amused and scandalized, “the forest made us lube?”

“It’s very accommodating,” Adam says, unable to keep from smiling.

Ronan does not need more explanation than that, or more encouragement. Soon his slick fingers are pressing into Adam, moving inside him, opening him up. He’s good at this, he knows what Adam likes just the same way Adam knows what he likes. He knows how much preparation Adam needs, where his most sensitive spots are. And, in truth, Adam doesn’t need much. He already wants Ronan so badly, the desire between them building to an intensity that doesn’t allow for caution.

“That’s enough,” Adam says, his voice hoarse with need, and Ronan listens. His fingers slide out of Adam and he moves, cock hard, to brush against Adam’s entrance and then push inside of him in one forceful movement.

Adam cries out and digs his fingers into Ronan’s shoulder, adjusting to the pleasant burn of it. It only takes him a moment, and then he is urging Ronan on with soft but eager words, _harder_ and _I want you_ and _yes, just like that_. Ronan is fiercely obedient, letting Adam guide him, greedy and hungry but always attentive. Focused on Adam the same way that Adam is focused on him, like there’s nothing else in the world, like everything they could possibly want is tied up in the other person.

Adam is never loud, but this time he isn’t quiet either. Breathless words in Ronan’s ear, soft pleas or quiet orders, and as their pace builds his words give way to wordless moans, echoed by Ronan. Adam can never get enough of the way Ronan sounds when he’s fucking Adam, the look on his face, the way he loses himself. It’s all too much, and with the magic flowing through him here it’s something else, something verging on otherworldly.

He can’t think, can’t do anything but move with Ronan, and when Adam’s orgasm hits him he cries out, sudden and loud. His body is still full of the aftershocks of that pleasure when Ronan thrusts into him again, reaching his own release inside Adam.

It feels a little like a ritual, a little like he’s come full circle. Giving of himself again, here in the forest, its magic filling him and turning him into something else. Only this time it isn’t a sacrifice, this time it isn’t Adam doing the only thing he can think of to survive. This time it’s a celebration. It’s a moment of pure happiness, a gift. Love, as difficult as that is for someone like Adam to believe.

They lay there for awhile. Adam can feel the magic settling around them. He feels content, warm, like he could stay here forever.

They can’t, of course. They get up eventually, clean up, put their clothes back on. They walk through the forest together, and Adam sees trees growing impossible fruit and birds with feathers of spun silver and a stag that’s the pure white of moonlight. Everything here is magic, hidden away beneath the leaves. Ronan is a part of it, all sharp angles and pale skin and wicked tattoo. Adam wonders if an observer would think he fits there too - Ronan certainly looks at him as if he does.

They’re drawn together, Adam driven by an urge he can’t seem to sate. They make love in the forest again before night falls, before they retreat to the house for dinner and an evening before the fire. They share Ronan’s bed that night, curled close together, and they wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

It’s only a couple of days, but it’s an enchanted time. No one is there to judge them or watch them, no one but the two of them and the forest. There magic in everything in that place, and Adam can see where Ronan’s devotion comes from, can see how incredibly easy it would be to share it. He can see the love for Ronan’s home in every moment there, everything he does, the smiles that come more easily and the curl of his fingers around Adam’s wrist.

He wants to bring that light back to Ronan’s eyes permanently. He vows to himself to find a way, to make it happen. They’re so close - Matthew will be of age soon, and then Ronan will be able to petition for his inheritance. Adam will find a way to make it happen. He wants this for Ronan, he wants to help return his home to him. He wants the forest to be protected by the most fierce and loyal man he’s ever known.

And, selfishly, he wants this for himself as well. He wants to believe that maybe, in some version of the future, they could have this place to retreat to sometimes. A place where they don’t have to be the advisor and the knight, where they don’t have to worry about rumors or reputations, where they can just be with each other. 

When they have to return home, that’s what he thinks about. That’s what he dreams of. At least for awhile.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Declan ruins everything.

It’s several months after their trip before the rumors begin. Nearly a year after they first managed to get tangled up with each other. Longer than Adam thought they would have, if he’s being honest with himself.

It’s a year where Adam has been happier than he ever thought possible - when he thought about it at all. Oh, things aren’t perfect. The nobles have never stopped looking down their noses at him, the kingdom still barely respects him. He fights with Gansey sometimes over stupid things, and with Ronan over even stupider ones. But despite that, or maybe partially because of it, Adam has been happy.

He’s had an endless stream of issues to focus his mind on - treaties, feuds between nobles, petitions from the common folk. Not all of them are to be handled by Gansey, but Gansey’s father - or rather his mother, who Adam quickly learns is the true power in the throne room - believes that Gansey should have an opinion on all of them, in order to prepare him for the time when he will be the one making these decisions. And Adam’s role is to research and advise, to present Gansey with various possibilities and provide his counsel on which he thinks is best.

Gansey does not have to listen, and often doesn’t - sometimes that’s why they fight. But Adam finds the work itself much more appealing than he imagined. Picking out the intricacies of things, researching and unravelling problems, laying out possible solutions, it all appeals to the practical, problem-solving side of Adam. Taking this position, he hadn’t known to expect that, but now that he’s here, he finds true enjoyment in the work.

And he has his friends, of course. Gansey, naturally. Noah, always livening up the room. Henry, insightful and bright. Blue, there and gone again, journeying the world now that she is able, sometimes with Henry or Noah but often alone.

And Ronan, of course. Ronan, whose rooms he sneaks into at night, or who shows up at his door with a shuttered lantern and a bottle of wine. Ronan, whose touch he’s not sure he can live without anymore. Ronan, who’s as fierce and angry as ever but who softens almost imperceptibly when they’re together. He’s found his place as well, learned how to command the royal guard, made his name as a knight. He’s wrapped himself so fully around Adam’s heart that Adam dreams of him even when they’ve just been together.

It’s lonely sometimes, of course. They can’t be together openly, they can’t even stay the night with one another without inviting whispers. Adam is careful about how he acts with Ronan in public, and Ronan is careful as well, as little as he cares what people think. Sometimes it’s incredibly difficult, that distance, and sometimes it sparks fights, anger and cold words and even more distance.

But each time, they come back together. Each time, they apologize in their own way, with gestures and actions and silent affection.

Adam has never had this before. He never wants to lose it.

Then the rumors start.

He hears about them from the servants, of course. A hesitance, a quiet word in his ear one morning, arriving along with his breakfast. By the time the rumors reach him, it seems they’ve been circulating in whispers for some time.

“Everyone is saying that Sir Lynch is a deviant,” the chambermaid says, not quite looking Adam in the eye, though usually the servants treat him as less of a lord and more of an ally.

“Are they?” Adam says, keeping his voice steady and casual. He feels cold. They’ve been so careful - but not as careful as they should be. Kisses in the garden that he thought were perfectly hidden, but maybe not. Ronan slipping out of his room in the early hours of the morning, when a servant or an insomniac could have seen. He thinks of all the ways they’ve been less careful, all the times they’ve been too wrapped up in each other to take the precautions they should have.

Maybe it was only a matter of time.

“I got it from Sarina, who’s the maid to Lady Elladin. She says he’s not interested in women, that he indulges himself in brothels down in the city - that some keep boys just for men like him.” She pours warm water into a basin so that Adam can wash up later. “I thought you would want to know.”

There’s enough cautious uncertainty in her voice that Adam thinks she might be hoping for a confirmation or a denial, something to pass on to the others, to keep the palace rumor mill going. This time, Adam isn’t sure what to say. He does not want to lie flat-out, not when the possibility remains that someone could find out, but he can’t tell the truth. He settles for a half truth, instead. “Lynch has never been interested in brothels.”

It’s enough to satisfy her, and she leaves Adam with his thoughts, which are tumultuous.

His name was nowhere in that tale, and her attitude - Adam thinks he would have caught on if she’d been concealing that, if he had been implicated in this tale of Ronan’s sinfulness. And the mention of Lady Elladin - 

He wants to laugh, for a moment. They weren’t discovered. The lady is well-known to have been an admirer of Ronan’s, and though it’s not common knowledge Adam knows that she made advances and was turned down recently. Not kindly, either, because Ronan was not made to be anything less than blunt.

She took it poorly, it seems, and now is spreading rumors. It wouldn’t be a problem, except that she’s happened upon a story that is half-true, a story that - if anyone should believe it, and try to discover more - could end in ruin for the both of them. It’s ridiculous and dangerous, and Adam wishes for a moment that Ronan were more political, more polite, not the sort of person to turn someone down harshly enough to cause this.

But it’s not the truth. That’s something of a relief, at least. Even while he thinks this, Adam is deciding what to do. Normally he doesn’t intervene in rumors like this - he allows them to go their course, fading away or gaining strength - but this is too close to home, carries too much possibility for danger. They’ll have to spend some time apart, cease any actions that might lead to discovery. It’s not a _pleasant_ thought - Adam doesn’t want to go without Ronan’s company - but it’s what must be done, and with that and some careful counter-rumors, it should die down eventually.

He hopes.

But he has to talk to Ronan about it first, and that proves to be difficult, because Ronan is in a terrible mood.

There’s no answer when Adam knocks on his door that morning. Ronan turns out to be at the practice grounds, engaged in thoroughly beating one of the guardsmen, his movements and the look in his eyes enough to signal - to Adam, at least, who knows him intimately - that he’s furious about something.

Adam intends to wait, to speak to him when he’s done. He thinks Ronan must have heard the rumor. Part of him expected Ronan to not care, but this reaction is no real surprise either - Ronan has always burned hot, has difficulty measuring out his emotions. Adam will speak to him and they can make a plan, it’ll be all right.

But before he can, a servant calls him away to attend Gansey. There’s an important matter, a building feud between two young sons of opposing families, and his father has left it to him to resolve, which means he needs to consult with Adam. 

It’s probably best to let Ronan cool off anyway, Adam thinks, and he goes.

They’re hard at work when Ronan storms in. The door hits the wall, and Adam and Gansey both look up, wide-eyed.

Ronan’s eyes are on Gansey, his face distorted in anger. Whatever fury he was trying to work off earlier is still there, perhaps even stronger. Adam is, suddenly, afraid. Not of what Ronan might do to him - he has no fear of that - but of what Ronan might do to himself.

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” Ronan says, snarling out the words like language itself has personally offended him. “He doesn’t give a shit what I say, but you’re the goddamn prince. Tell him to fuck himself. I’m not gonna do it. Fucking tell him, Gansey.”

He makes a quick, abortive movement, as if he was about to punch the wall or smash something against it. His eyes go to Adam instead, and though Adam has found himself remarkably adept at calming Ronan when he’s angry, he can instantly tell there’s no calming this. The look in Ronan’s eyes is not only anger, but confusion, frustration, and something that Adam thinks might be desperation.

Then Ronan is gone, leaving the door swinging open behind, his long strides taking him quickly down the hallway.

Adam stands, his first instinct being to follow. But he stops himself, because if there’s one thing he’s learned it’s that Ronan sometimes needs to be left alone, that neither Adam nor Gansey will always be successful at soothing him. Adam thinks now might be one of those times. And, perhaps more importantly, he doesn’t have any idea what this is about.

It can’t be the rumors. He can imagine Ronan being angry at them, but this is too much. And what he said -

Adam turns to Gansey, then, his gaze sharp. When he speaks, he sounds sharp too, and he doesn’t bother to try and modulate that. Something is going on, something that he doesn’t know about, and it involves Ronan, and Adam is slowly growing more worried and frightened. He retreats into coldness, into answers.

“What’s going on?”

Gansey’s brow is furrowed, worry written across his face as well. He looks at the door, then at Adam, and for a moment Adam isn’t sure he’s going to say anything. Technically, it isn’t Adam’s business - or it shouldn’t be. But they are all friends, they have been friends for years, and though Gansey doesn’t know of Ronan and Adam’s affair, he knows how close they are. How important they are to each other.

“Declan has come to the capital,” Gansey says.

Adam has not met Declan Lynch, only heard tales of him from Ronan and Gansey, and a few from Matthew as well. He’s a distant specter, something looming over Ronan’s life, causing him trouble from time to time but mostly existing in an entirely different world. He studied abroad for some time, making connections and building his family’s fortune, but he returned recently to take his place as head of the family.

It makes sense, Adam supposes. He’d lost track of time, but now that he thinks of it he realizes that Matthew will be coming of age in a few weeks’ time. The Lynch brothers will receive their inheritances, and Ronan will be judged by his father’s council. And by Declan.

If they decide he’s unfit, he won’t lose his inheritance. Adam has argued them into that much, at least. He’ll only be given another time limit, more demands, a stricter set of rules to live by. But Adam knows it would crush Ronan, who has wanted this for so long. Who has done so much to be thought worthy. If Declan is here, it’s about that - about Matthew and Ronan and their future.

Ronan is upset because of something Declan has demanded of him. Something new. Adam’s stomach twists, remembering Ronan’s anger.

“What does he want?” Adam asks, keeping his voice steady. Gansey knows his meaning, knows he’s asking not why Declan is in the capital but what he’s asked of Ronan. He knows, and he hesitates again, frowning.

“It seems there have been some… unsavory rumors about Ronan recently. Between that and the concerns of the council, Declan has come with the requirement that Ronan marry before he receives his inheritance.” Gansey shakes his head, a concerned friend, knowing that Ronan will not wish to marry. 

Adam stares, frozen, not a concerned friend but something far more, someone who knows intimately why Ronan doesn’t wish to marry. Why he would be so furious at the demand.

“It’s a mess,” Gansey says with a sigh. “I can’t say Declan is entirely wrong - his family’s reputation is the one that will suffer, and Ronan has caused it enough trouble already. And who knows, perhaps Ronan would do well with a wife. A steadying influence. Though he’s been much better recently.”

He’s musing, concerned but able to see the quandary with a distance Adam lacks, Adam who can only think of the terrible position Ronan has been put in. Of what it might mean for them.

“But you know Ronan. He can’t stand the thought of it, he hates the idea of courtship or choosing a wife. He hates Declan trying to assert control. But I don’t see that he has any choice, in the end. We all have to make sacrifices sometimes.” Gansey says it with the air of someone who accepted that long ago, and Adam thinks with a grim clarity of the way he smiles when he talks to Blue, the way his shoulders relax and his position falls away.

Gansey was raised knowing he would marry for political reasons, that love would not have any say in his choice. He was raised knowing he would need to sacrifice. But Ronan wasn’t. Sons who are not their family’s heirs are allowed leeway, allowed more choice. They can marry for love, so long as it isn’t too far below their station, or they can not marry at all if they choose. They can gain a reputation for patronizing brothels, so long as they’re the right sort of brothels. There have even been rumors before - a lord who lived only with his knight-in-arms year after year, another who had a remarkably close friendship with a neighboring lord.

But those were not Lynches. Those were not scions of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. Adam realizes suddenly that he’s been assuming Ronan has more freedom than he truly does, he’s been assuming that they could continue like this indefinitely. But it’s not true, is it? Ronan Lynch is the son of Niall Lynch, and the favored son, at that. He is the prince’s knight-captain, he is rich and titled and has beautiful lands in his lap.

He is a second son, but this would have come sooner or later. Rumors of dalliances with male prostitutes will tarnish the Lynch name, and rumors of dalliances with the king’s councillor would do worse. Everyone sins, but to bring love into the picture is something unforgivable. It makes the sin mean more than simple carnal desire.

Adam has never believed in sin, but he knows Declan does. He knows most of the kingdom does.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“No wonder he’s angry,” Adam says. He feels like the words are distant from him. He’s struggling to maintain his composure, struggling to convince himself that things aren’t falling apart. That this thing he has, that’s made him so happy, isn’t about to disappear.

“He was never going to agree easily,” Gansey says, wry amusement in his voice, and for a moment Adam hates him. He doesn’t know, they’ve been careful to keep it from him, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. That easy acceptance that of course Ronan should take a wife, Declan knows best, Ronan will give in eventually.

And where will that leave Adam?

“I’ve got to go,” Adam says abruptly, and Gansey looks surprised.

“He’s very angry, Adam, you ought to leave him alone and let him cool down-”

“I’ve got to go,” he says again, and then he leaves before he can explode. He doesn’t know what Gansey will think of his sudden departure, and in that moment he doesn’t care.

He goes to Ronan’s rooms first, but again there is no response to his knock. He catalogues the places Ronan could be - the practice ground, the guard barracks, the garden, the stables.

Instead, he goes to find Declan.

All it takes is a quiet question of the servants, and soon Adam is dismounting outside the inn Declan has taken rooms at. It’s lavishly appointed, a night there surely only available for a truly ridiculous price, but what does Declan care? He’s never had to worry about money. He could stay at the palace if he wished, or he could even take a house in the city - and he might, now that he’s returned to the kingdom. The Lynches haven’t had an estate in the city since Niall died. Perhaps it’s time.

These are distractions, something to focus on to keep down the fear and disquiet that threatens to consume Adam. He needs all his composure for this.

A servant shows him in to Declan’s rooms, a vast suite more well-appointed than Adam’s own rooms in the palace. There’s a desk in a corner, papers stacked neatly atop it, but Declan has temporarily set his work aside and greets Adam with confident politeness, offering wine and fruit, which Adam declines. He doesn’t think he can eat right now.

Declan looks like Ronan, but sturdier. A little taller - and Ronan is already tall - with broad shoulders and the same handsome bone structure. On Ronan it comes across as sharp, dangerous. On Declan it somehow makes him look like the essential lord’s son, the heir anyone would want to have. His smile is carefully calculated to exactly the right level of warmth, enough to seem trustworthy without actually seeming like your friend.

Adam is impressed, despite himself. If he could manage a presence like Declan’s - like Gansey’s, which is what it reminds him of - he would not have to worry about anything. But Declan’s ease and polish do nothing to distract Adam from what he came for.

They exchange pleasantries, but Adam has no stomach for casual chatter. He goes directly for the heart of the matter as soon as it isn’t unforgivably rude to do so.

“I’m here to talk about Ronan,” Adam says, and Declan nods.

“I assumed so. You two have been friends since the Academy - Gansey told me. You’ve done excellent work with my father’s council as well, from everything I’ve heard. It’s only too bad we haven’t been able to meet before.” He smiles, easy and probably insincere. Adam thinks, from the sharpness in his eyes, that under that carefully political exterior is something more like Ronan than either of them would be willing to admit.

“He’s not happy with your requirement that he marry.” It feels strange to be talking about this when he hasn’t even spoken to Ronan yet, and Adam realizes that he’s let his emotions run away with him. What does he think he’s going to do here, talk Declan out of it? Declan doesn’t even know him, has no reason to listen to a thing he says.

But Adam needs to hear it. He needs to know.

“I didn’t think he would be,” Declan says, and he leans forward, some of his easy manner falling away to reveal something more serious. “But it must be done. These rumors are only going to get worse. It’ll make trouble for all of us - he’ll never be able to go home. He has to see that.”

“The rumors can be quelled,” Adam says, because he can’t think of any other solution. “It won’t be easy, but with care I can do it - we could. Ronan would -”

“Ronan would have to marry anyway,” Declan says, interrupting with a calm arrogance. “It isn’t only the rumors. I don’t believe he’s interested in managing his own finances and lands, not really - he’s never cared for any of that. Right now the council manages the lands, and finances - is that you, or the prince?”

Adam presses his lips together. It’s him, mostly, because he has a good head for numbers and Ronan doesn’t care about any of that. He does something similar for Gansey, keeping track of expenses and incomes for the both of them. The master of the treasury could do that, particularly for Gansey, but frankly - it’s something Adam is good at, after counting pennies all his life, and it’s something he gets an odd sort of enjoyment out of. It’s never been any trouble to do it for Gansey and Ronan in addition to himself.

“Once he has his inheritance, he can hire someone to do it,” Adam says. It’s true that in many noble households, the lady of the castle handles the purse, but it’s not unknown for a hireling to do so instead. Or, Adam thinks with frustration, he could simply continue to do it.

“He could, but you must see my concern. Ronan doesn’t care for details like this, but they’re necessary for running holdings like our father’s. And that land -” Declan pauses, and Adam thinks of the forest, the magic there, the protection it needs. “It’s important to us.”

He doesn’t know Adam knows, of course. The magic of that forest is a secret for the Lynch family alone. If not even Gansey knows, why would Adam?

But it makes more sense, then. Declan is not only doing this for Ronan, but for the home they grew up in, the magic held there. He wants Ronan to marry so that he can be sure the land will be protected even while Ronan fulfills his duties as knight-captain.

Adam doesn’t know how to argue against it. He thinks Declan doesn’t understand his brother, not really - Ronan loves his home and would never allow anything to happen to it, not through carelessness or anything else. Marrying won’t keep it any safer than Ronan would alone. But even if Adam says that, Declan won’t listen - that’s clear enough.

He sees Ronan still as the carelessly angry troublemaker, lashing out from the death of his father and the loss of his home. He thinks of Ronan as the sort of man who will abandon his responsibilities through immaturity. Adam knows Ronan isn’t that at all, that he’s become a capable and dedicated man, that he would never do any of those things.

But Declan won’t listen to those words from someone he barely knows, a near-stranger who has all the reason in the world to side with Ronan.

Adam doesn’t think there’s anything he can say that would make Declan listen.

“He couldn’t remain unmarried forever, in any case. Better to do so now and get it out of the way. Then his lands and holdings will be taken care of, the council will be satisfied, those nasty rumors will be gone, and perhaps he’ll be civilized a little.” Declan smiles then, and all Adam can see is the condescension in it. “You must see the necessity of a more stable influence in Ronan’s life, in the eyes of the kingdom.”

“I don’t,” Adam says, and the coldness of his tone gives Declan pause. “I think he’ll be perfectly stable without a wife.”

Declan looks sympathetic. “You were raised a peasant, weren’t you? You can’t understand what it’s like for nobles. Ronan was always meant to marry, we simply let him live his life as he pleased until it was time. Now it’s time. This isn’t something that can be negotiated.”

Adam’s blood is boiling, his anger almost impossible to control. The unfairness of it - and maybe he doesn’t understand, maybe it _is_ impossible for him to understand. He thought Ronan had more freedom than this, but it seems that has never been the case. That he misunderstood, that Ronan was never meant to be his. That Ronan was never meant to make his own choice.

“I’ve found a number of suitable young ladies, and he knows he’ll have to pick. He has until Matthew’s coming of age, technically, but I’ve asked him to make a choice by the king’s Midsummer Festival, since they’ll all be in the capital for it,” Declan stands, a clear dismissal, and Adam’s anger leaves him in a sudden rush. Left behind is nothing but emptiness and uncertainty. There’s nothing he can say or do.

“I know he’s angry, but he’s been alone for a long time, Master Parrish,” Declan says, and for a moment his voice is soft. For moment, Adam knows that Declan does care for his brother, that he’s just going about it in the worst possible way. Because he doesn’t know, because he doesn’t understand. “The ladies I’ve chosen would all suit him, I think. Perhaps he’ll fall in love, or even simply learn to love the one he chooses. He must marry, and it doesn’t need to be as awful as he thinks. Won’t you convince him of that?”

Adam has no answer. Declan doesn’t seem to expect one, showing him to the door with a pleasant smile.

He barely remembers the ride back to the palace. His mind is turning over the conversation, trying to find a way out, but there doesn’t seem to be any. Not in the face of Declan’s quiet certainty. He doesn’t know what to do.

He needs to talk to Ronan.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam proposes a compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry - a little more misery before things can get better.
> 
> Also, please please go look at this [incredible piece of art](http://diableries.tumblr.com/post/161197594626/knight-captain-ronan-who-burns-like-fire-on-the) for my fic. I don't have words for how good it is or how blown away I am that someone made such gorgeous art for something that I wrote! ♥♥♥

After Adam’s return to the castle, he looks for Ronan. There is a list of places he could go to search for him, but this time it’s easy - this time, when Adam knocks on the door to Ronan’s chambers, Ronan opens it.

His expression is stormy, his shoulders tense. Nearly anyone else, save Gansey and perhaps Noah and Blue, would flinch away. Ronan Lynch has always been a hurricane in the form of a man, and in the full force of his anger there’s little to do but damage control. Even for Adam, that’s sometimes all he can do - though more often, he walks away. Ronan’s anger is not his responsibility, nor will he take it upon himself to curb it. Ronan’s gotten better about that as well. He’s grown up, grown into the man he always could be, but he’s still prone to anger, and in this case - well. In this case, Adam can’t blame him.

Ronan’s shoulders un-tense very marginally at the sight of Adam, but his expression remains dangerous. Adam looks down the hall, at a servant carrying a load of bedding to the laundry. They can’t talk out here.

“Let me in,” he asks, quiet but firm, and Ronan steps back so he can enter.

With the door shut behind him, Adam watches Ronan stalk across the room, watches him pick up a bottle of wine and drink from it, not bothering with a glass. He’s not drunk, not yet, but it’s clear he was planning to get there. Adam drinks wine now but still hates being drunk - even so, part of him would like nothing more than to join Ronan.

“Gansey told me,” he says, and takes note of the way Ronan carefully doesn’t look at him. “Were you going to, or did you just hope he’d take care of it for you?” It’s not fair, not entirely. Ronan was upset, Adam knows that, but _he_ is upset, too. He’s calm now, holding himself together with that careful caution he learned very young, the kind that came along with an important lesson - if he falls apart, it’ll all be worse.

When he was a child, it was because crying would only anger his father more. Now, it’s because he knows if he does he might be letting this destroy him. As it is, his calm is a thin veneer over a roiling sea of pain and fear and anger.

It probably wouldn’t have been better if Ronan had been the one to tell him. It probably would have been worse. Adam knows that. He just hurts.

Ronan sets the bottle down with a hard _clunk_ and turns to Adam, the look on his face somewhere between angry and desperate. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I know,” Adam says, because seeing Ronan like that strips away his anger in an instant. “You found out this morning, right?” Because they saw each other the day before. Ronan tugged Adam behind a bookshelf in the empty library, kissed him until he could barely stand. Everything was fine then, and today - this.

Ronan nods, and sinks into a chair, burying his head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. “This is fucked. Declan’s an asshole, he can’t just come in here and make me do this. I’m not gonna do shit.”

Adam crosses the room, walking to Ronan, resting a hand over his to calm his frustrated clenched fingers. He lets his hand skim over Ronan’s hair, short but so soft. The intimacy of the gesture calms them both, it always has. These days, sometimes when Ronan is angry or frustrated or brimming with useless energy he’ll come to Adam’s room and fling himself down crossways across Adam’s bed, resting his head in Adam’s lap while Adam reads, long fingers stroking through his short hair. They won’t kiss, they won’t even speak, not until Ronan’s calmed himself and worked through whatever’s clawing at him.

Adam wonders if soon that will all disappear. These quiet moments, finding solace in each other. The louder ones, when Ronan can’t find it in himself to be calm or Adam can’t deal with Ronan’s moods and they fight instead, sharp words cutting deep, parting in anger and coming back together later to soothe the wounds with hungry kisses and whispered words. The laughter, the quiet looks across the hall during feasts, Ronan’s hand brushing his when no one can see.

“I spoke to Declan, too,” Adam says, quiet. He feels Ronan tense. “If you don’t do it, you aren’t going to get your home back. You don’t have a choice.”

Ronan knows it. Adam knows it. He spent the ride back to the palace frantically trying to think of a way out, a way around Declan’s certainty, but none appeared. Ronan could refuse, but Declan has already made up his mind. They could appeal to Gansey, but Adam has attended enough meetings of the king’s council to know that Gansey cannot involve himself in matters like this - the internal business of a noble family. It doesn’t affect the Crown, doesn’t affect the kingdom. It only affects his friend, and Adam has already seen that Gansey doesn’t think it’s a terrible idea.

Ronan can remain unmarried, remain with Adam, or he can have his home back. Those are the only two options Adam sees.

Ronan catches hold of Adam’s hand, brings it down to his lips. He kisses Adam’s fingers, and what should be a tender gesture is fierce, almost frantic. Looking up, their eyes meet.

“I’m not giving you up,” Ronan says. “I’m not going to marry some woman I’ve never met and don’t care about. I’m not Declan, I can’t just - trade one person for another.” His lips thin, expression turning firm. “I told you. It’s always been you.”

Ronan is like this sometimes. Harsh and rude, difficult and dangerous, and then he’ll turn to Adam with an open heart and words on his lips that Adam never thought to hear from anyone, especially not Ronan Lynch. It disarms him every time, takes him apart piece by piece until all he can do is hand Ronan his heart and hope it will be taken care of.

In that, he thinks, Ronan will never allow himself to let Adam down.

“There has to be a way,” Ronan says, and the way he looks at Adam says _you will find a way_. He turns to Adam for a solution like he has since their school days, like Gansey always has as well, because Adam is a problem-solver. He’s good at it, and he’s always been a little flattered by their trust and belief in him.

This time, the burden might be too much. This time, it’s Ronan’s future and his own, and he doesn’t know if he can do it. He couldn’t think of a way before, but maybe he can find one somehow. How can he do otherwise, when Ronan looks at him like that?

“I’ll do everything I can,” he says, and he tangles his fingers with Ronan’s. When they kiss, there’s a note of sorrow in it, a touch of desperation that’s never been there before, but Ronan’s lips on his are still the most comfort Adam can dream of.

Adam doesn’t leave Ronan’s room for his own until the early hours of the morning. They make love, Ronan’s touches more urgent than ever before, Adam’s own desires more needy. He takes Ronan in his mouth and brings him to the edge, taking him as deeply as he can. He wants every piece of Ronan that he can have right now, every piece that’s just his. When Ronan comes he swallows it all, with no sense of shame, and they only rest for a moment before Ronan is pressing him back into the sheets of his bed and sliding downward to return the attention, mouth hungry on Adam’s skin.

It won’t be the last time - it isn’t the last time - but facing what might happen, it feels like an ending of sorts. An acknowledgement that no matter what happens, even if Adam finds a solution, things have changed. Ronan is not so free as Adam dreamed, and will never be entirely his.

But tonight he is. Tonight he can be, and neither of them wants to stop touching the other.

Finally, just before the sunrise, too exhausted, they sink into sleep. Adam wakes after what he thinks was only a few minutes, sore and aching and wishing for more of Ronan, wishing only to sleep next to him and wake up in his arms but knowing he can’t. The servants will be about soon, he’ll have to be careful getting back to his room.

He watches Ronan sleep for a moment, his sharp jawline and his thin lips and the dark shadow of his lashes on his cheekbone. Then Adam leaves, afraid that if he keeps looking his heart might simply break.

The next day, he begins looking for a solution.

It’s a thankless task. A letter to the council that Declan now leads gets him nothing, a search through books of law for some sort of precedent leads to only dead ends. This is a simple matter of inheritance, and in such matters there is little that can be done. It’s entirely within the council’s rights to demand Ronan marry before releasing his lands to him, and though Adam’s letter argues eloquently for Ronan’s ability to govern those lands quite well on his own, it comes to nothing.

Ronan is waiting for Adam to bring him an answer, a miracle that will set him free, and Adam finds nothing. The days pass, and though they visit each other - each stolen kiss a little more desperate, Adam finding bruises on his hips where Ronan’s fingers clung a little too tightly - Ronan doesn’t bring it up. He’s waiting, and Adam is going to disappoint him.

It’s during a meal taken with Blue, visiting the capital between trips, where he gets an idea.

It’s not a good idea, but it’s the only one that seems remotely possible.

Her travels have already taken her all over the kingdom, and they’re speaking of her new plans, her intention to travel beyond - visit Henry’s home across the sea, first of all, and then maybe further. It sounds like an adventure, it sounds exactly like something Blue would want to do, and it fills Adam with a warm affection.

“We’ll miss you,” he says. “We already do.”

She goes quiet, looking down at her tea. They’re in her home - Persephone’s home, too, which Adam still visits from time to time on his own. To discuss things, or to scry with support, or to help them with something. Blue stays here when she’s in the city. She rarely visits the palace anymore.

“It’s too painful,” she says, reaching out to spoon more sugar into her tea. “I just can’t be here all the time. But I miss all of you, too.”

Adam doesn’t need to ask what she’s talking about. They haven’t spoken of it - of Gansey - but it’s always been an undercurrent in their group of friends. It didn’t need to be spoken of. They all knew.

“He misses you too,” Adam says, with what gentleness he can manage. He’s never been terribly good at that sort of thing, but it seems to be enough. Blue’s eyes flicker to him, and she scowls.

“I see him when I’m here. I _just_ saw him, to drop off that ridiculous book. Too heavy, he’s going to throw his back out if he tries to carry it around.” Her irritation is thin, a cover over her real feelings, and it’s not difficult to see right through it. Blue wouldn’t do these things - fetching items for Gansey on her trips, looking for things he’s asked for or simply things he might want - if she didn’t care deeply.

The bluster is not unlike Ronan, and Adam feels the ache of loss. Ronan isn’t gone yet, but Adam can feel him slipping away with every moment that passes.

There is silence between them for some time, filled with the soft sounds of tea being poured and spoons clinking against cups, before Blue speaks again. This time her voice is quieter, the set of her lips somehow more vulnerable.

“We talked,” she says. “After all of those ceremonies, when he really became the heir. We talked. He’s going to get married, his father is already looking at possible candidates. He said -” she frowns then, the memory of real anger crossing her face - “he said we could be together anyway.”

Adam winces. Gansey, neatly putting his foot in his mouth. Typical of him, but Adam can easily imagine how furious Blue would have been at the offer. Surely he’d known what her response would be? But sometimes Gansey doesn’t think about these things - sometimes he misses emotional notes that are obvious to Adam. That has been the cause of more than one of their fights, in the past.

“I told him off. I’m not going to be anyone’s mistress. I’m not going to be tied to the capital, either, I want my own life - I won’t give it all up just to be with him while he’s married to someone else. No matter how much I… care about him.”

Blue’s anger shades into something closer to sadness, and Adam reaches out to take her hand. There could have been something between them once, and now he wonders if maybe that wouldn’t have been better all around. Neither of them being nobles, they could have married easily, if they wanted. Adam would not have stopped her from traveling as she pleased, and she would not have needed to share him with anyone, nor he her.

But instead she fell in love with the prince, and he lost his heart to the prince’s knight, and now both of them are going to lose.

All four of them.

He holds her hand, and before he can think better of it, he speaks.

“Ronan and I, we’re - involved.” It’s a delicate way of putting it, and for a moment he sees she’s confused. Then understanding dawns, and Adam smiles, a wry twist of his lips. “I’m sure you heard. He has to get married.”

“Oh, Adam,” Blue says, and clutches his hand. There’s quiet acceptance in it, and sympathy, and that alone is more comforting than Adam could possibly put into words.

Blue is surprised, but not horrified. He didn’t expect her to be - not Blue, who takes delight in pushing back against all of society’s rules and expectations. She clucks her tongue at the idea that he chose _Ronan_ , of all people, true to her and Ronan’s comfortably adversarial friendship, but she voices no words of disapproval.

They don’t speak of Ronan’s marriage again, nor of Gansey’s. Not until they’re parting, not until Blue pulls him into a warm hug, her small body familiar in his arms. “Nobles,” she whispers in his ear, and there’s catch in her voice, something almost close to tears. “We should have known better.”

“We should have,” he says, trying to pretend as if his own voice isn’t just as fragile. Then he kisses her cheek and they part.

He couldn’t tell Blue that she’d given him an idea. She would have disagreed, probably vehemently. But they are two different people, and what she hated is - well. Not something Adam wants, but he doesn’t believe there’s any choice left to him. He doesn’t expect Ronan will like the idea either.

He is right.

“I would never ask that of you,” Ronan snarls, fury making his body taut as a bowstring. “I never even - I never even _considered_ it, Parrish.”

“I know,” Adam says, “but I’m the one offering.”

“Fuck!” Ronan snatches a cup from the table - tin, fortunately - and sends it flying into the wall. Adam doesn’t flinch. He would be throwing things if he could, but he has to be determined, he has to walk this path he’s decided on.

“It’s the only way I can find. They won’t back down - Declan won’t change his mind. Just pick one of them, get married. Declan chose them, so they’ll all be women who should be trustworthy. And I - I’ll be all I have been to you, Ronan.” It takes an effort to say it with a steady voice.

Adam’s pride is in revolt, as well as his heart. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to share Ronan, he doesn’t want Ronan to stand before a priest and pledge himself to someone else. He doesn’t want to lay in bed knowing that Ronan’s hands might be on someone else - he knows Ronan isn’t interested in women, but some things must be done in a marriage. Just the idea of it is eating him up with jealousy, but the alternative -

The alternative is Ronan never being able to go home. Or the alternative is all of that happening, and Ronan not coming to him afterward. Not even having the scraps, the bits of Ronan’s affection that he can save for Adam.

Neither of those alternatives are something that Adam can live with. He doesn’t know if he can live with this, either, but he knows he can try.

It’s not fair to Ronan, who he knows can’t stand the thought of not devoting himself fully to one person. It’s not fair to whoever he marries, who will never have a husband who can love her the way she no doubt deserves. It’s not fair to Adam, who will have to share the only man he’s ever loved.

But the alternatives are all even worse. The least bad option is still a terrible option, and one that may break all of them in the end, but Adam has to try. He can’t walk away from Ronan, and he can’t let Ronan lose his home.

“I don’t fucking want this,” Ronan says, his voice rising. “Neither do you. We’ll both be fucking miserable.”

“But you’ll be able to go home,” Adam says, and he hears his own voice rising, sharpening. “I’m not letting my pride and your stubbornness ruin that. Plenty of nobles have lovers, this would be no different.”

“It would be different, Adam.” Ronan is biting out every word, barely containing his anger. “You’re not some fucking piece on the side. I love you. You’re the only one I want.”

That cuts straight to Adam’s heart. He wants to collapse, he wants to cry. But they’re running out of time - the Midsummer Festival is a week away. Ronan has to choose a wife, has to make a decision. Adam is the thing that has been standing in the way of that, the sole thing keeping him from finally getting what he’s worked for for so long.

“You’ll have me,” he says, though he can no longer sustain his anger. His words are clear instead, and colder than he intended, all his effort spent holding himself together. “I’ll still be yours.”

“And what? I won’t be yours? Is that what you want?” Ronan’s anger has not abated, but he looks at Adam like he can’t understand - like it’s impossible for him to. And it probably is. “That’s fucking bullshit.”

“It’s the only choice,” Adam says, looking Ronan in the eye. It is. He knows that. He’s failed Ronan, he hasn’t found a solution, he’s only found this. A compromise that will make them all miserable, but that will get them pieces of what they want. Sharp pieces that are bound to slice them to the bone, but isn’t that better than nothing?

“I always knew you were cold,” Ronan says. His fist clenches. “I didn’t think you had nothing in you but ice.” His voice is low now, anger turned white-hot. “Have it your way, then.”

Adam stiffens, hurt in a way Ronan hasn’t managed in some time, not for all their petty arguments. When Ronan turns to leave, Adam doesn’t stop him.

Alone in his chambers, walls still echoing with Ronan’s words, heart raw and aching like an open wound, Adam sits and buries his face in his hands and breathes until the threat of tears is gone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ronan acts rashly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me this long. ♥ We're almost done!

They barely speak for the next week.

They see each other - it would be very difficult not to. They are still the two closest members of Gansey’s court, his advisor and his knight. Avoiding each other would be nearly impossible, not to mention extremely obvious. As it is, Adam knows that Gansey’s realized something is wrong. He looks between them sometimes, puzzled, but they’ve had disagreements before. It’s been awhile since one has lasted this long, but Gansey seems to be unwilling to bring it up. Or maybe he just doesn’t know how.

That’s fair. Adam doesn’t know how either. He wants what they had back, he wants Ronan’s hidden smiles and warm touch, his hungry kisses and the way his eyes would follow Adam across a room. But Ronan hasn’t come to his door for days, and Adam has not had the courage to go to his.

It’s not over. He believes that. He believes that they’ll be together again once the dust has settled. Ronan is struggling with the necessity of choosing a wife, the difficulty of what’s to come. Adam - Adam is struggling too.

It made sense. It still makes sense. This is the only way Ronan can both have his home and have Adam. It’s brutally practical, a logical and clear decision. Adam prides himself on his practicality, his logic.

He’s barely been able to sleep since Ronan agreed to it.

He keeps imagining Ronan with someone else. And not just in bed - that’s the least of it, especially since he knows Ronan has no interest in women. His marriage bed will be a duty, nothing more, though the idea of Ronan’s hands on someone else is not at all pleasant. It’s the rest of it that tears at Adam’s heart, though. Ronan building a life with someone else, forming a partnership. A home. Children. All the things that Adam can’t give him.

He’s been sleepless and irritable, trying desperately to hide how miserable he’s become. All this, and Ronan hasn’t even chosen a wife yet.

Or maybe he has. Adam doesn’t know. They haven’t spoken in private since their fight.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when it actually happens, when he has to watch Ronan marry someone else. Adam has been through far more pain than he likes to remember. He knows that if he can endure that, he can endure this as well. He knows it - or at least he has to believe it. There isn’t an alternative.

Ronan has been in a terrible mood as well, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. He never has. But everyone knows of Declan’s ultimatum, now, so Ronan’s mood is nothing unexpected. Even Adam’s own could probably be explained away with some easy lies, if he wanted to.

He doesn’t really want to. He wants it to go away. He wants things to go back to the way they were before, soft kisses in the dark of night and hidden glances in the hallways. Ronan Lynch, all his.

It won’t. He knows that. By the time the Midsummer Festival arrives, he’s even managed to convince himself he can survive it.

There are celebrations of all kinds, all throughout the city. Feasting, dancing, music. Showcases of skill and craftsmanship. Of course, there is a tourney.

Last year, Ronan won it handily. Most of the kingdom expects the same this year. Adam is a little more worried.

He remembers that very first one, Ronan sunk in depression, drunk and injured and uncaring. Was that Ronan any less miserable than the one he sees now? Will this end the same way? It’s more dangerous now - Ronan is mounted, will be jousting, there are so many ways for him to get hurt. To hurt himself.

Adam wants to believe he wouldn’t do that. But he sees the dark circles under Ronan’s eyes, evidence of lost sleep to match his own. He’s smelled liquor on him once or twice, too. Disaster is only a step away.

He doesn’t know what to do. He attends the tourney.

Blue is there, still resting from her travels before departing again. Noah and Henry come as well, and they all pile into Gansey’s royal box. The atmosphere is strange, a veneer of happiness above tension. Noah and Henry are as bright as usual, full of stories and jokes, brimming with good cheer. Blue’s cheer is more fragile, and Gansey’s matches hers. They exchange weighted glances, carefully refrain from touching each other, and Gansey looks away when she smiles. Rumor has it the king has come nearer to a decision about who is to be Gansey’s bride. Adam knows the rumor is true.

He doesn’t bother with false cheer. He is silent, mind churning with worry and misery. Will Ronan hurt himself? Will he do something stupid? Even if he doesn’t, this is it. He has to choose a wife, his time is up. _Their_ time is up. Adam wants to be practical, wants to be strong, but he can’t see a future that contains untainted happiness for the both of them. Only a terrible compromise, a deal that gives them a little of what they want in exchange for tearing away nearly everything else.

He thinks about the women Declan has chosen as candidates. He’s learned everything he can about them, of course. They all seem like intelligent women, strong-willed without being arrogant, composed and well-bred. The sort of woman a man like Ronan should marry. Any of them would be a good choice. Adam has spoken to them, knows that they are good people.

He hates them all. It’s unfair, irrational, he knows that. But he hates that they can have what he can’t. He hates what they represent.

The others sense his mood and mostly leave him alone. Adam regrets that, a little - he regrets that he can’t find it in himself to pretend that everything is all right, that his heart doesn’t hurt. But he just can’t, not today. He listens to them chatter and comforts himself with the knowledge that whatever else happens, he’ll have this. He’ll have friendship and acceptance, love, things he never had before the Academy. It’s selfish of him to want more.

The tourney begins, and Adam watches with mild interest. He’s still mostly bored by these things, unless it’s Ronan on the field. Then he can appreciate the skill and effort that goes into staying mounted, handling your horse and the lance both, knowing the exact moment to strike. He loves watching Ronan do the things he’s good at - he just doesn’t much care about watching anyone else do it.

Adam’s tension increases as Ronan takes the field, as his fears from before come flooding back. But everything seems all right. Ronan sits his horse well, no sign of the slumped posture that would come from drinking too much. He moves as he always has, with a dangerous grace that Adam finds hard to look away from. Though it’s difficult to tell through the helm he wears, Adam thinks he seems less strained, less tired.

He must have come to a decision. Perhaps he’s even spoken to Declan already. Adam wonders if he should feel relieved at the thought, but all he feels is a quiet dread and an odd sense of surprise. The idea of being shut out of one of the first decisions in Ronan’s new life is upsetting, but he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Ronan had no obligation to ask Adam’s opinion, and given his anger when they spoke, it would be natural for him to proceed on his own.

Adam tells himself that, but it doesn’t really help.

Ronan rides as splendidly as he always has. He defeats his first opponent easily, to the pleased murmurs of the crowd, and their excitement increases with each new victory. Ronan has a reputation now, known across the kingdom as a fierce warrior, nearly undefeated. The crowd in the stands are thrilled to see another tourney fall beneath lance and sword and pounding hooves, and Adam is no less satisfied, despite his unrest.

Gansey is smiling now, too, and the others. They needed this, maybe, a release of tension. Something to cheer for, something to be excited about. And perhaps Gansey was also worried that Ronan might act out - he remembers it too, the day that caused the scar Adam has traced his fingers over so many times now.

Ronan defeats his final opponent to the deafening cheers of the crowd. He peels his helm off, wiping sweat from his brow, and for a moment he smiles. It’s fierce and pleased, and the first smile Adam has seen from him in far too long. It’s not directed at him, but even so Adam feels as if the earth could move and it would be no less stunning.

As Ronan rides to receive his reward, more gold to give away and another rose to end up in the muck, Gansey leans in and speaks to Adam, a quiet comment under the sound of the crowd and the delight of their friends.

“He looks better,” Gansey says, and there’s relief in his voice. “He must have made a decision. Did he tell you who he’s chosen? I quite like Lady Elise myself.”

The reminder of what’s to come doesn’t soothe Adam. His moment of peace evaporates, but he tries not to show it. He thinks he succeeds. “He hasn’t told me, no.”

“Half the nobles are dying to know. I think there’s even a betting pool.” Gansey laughs, amused and oblivious. It’s all anyone’s been able to talk about, Adam knows - who the dangerous and handsome Ronan Lynch will choose as his bride.

He’s about to say something - he’s not sure whether it will be a sharp reminder that Ronan isn’t happy about this or a simple comment about the foolish gossip - when a murmur of shock spreads through the crowd. He turns from Gansey, back to the jousting grounds, and there is Ronan.

He’s astride his horse still, bringing him up to the level of the box. He cuts a devastating figure, all dark armor and intimidating features, his helm hung on his saddle and his shoulders set.

He waits until Adam’s attention is on him. Then, careful and deliberate, Ronan holds out the rose.

Adam meets his eyes. They are steady, intense, with a spark of something that might be hope or might be desperation. The crowd is silent, or at least Adam hears nothing else.

He should think through the implications of this, make lists of pros and cons, think about what will happen and how it will affect them, how it will affect Gansey.

He doesn’t. He takes the rose from Ronan with an equally careful, equally deliberate gesture.

The corner of Ronan’s lips curl up into a pleased, barely-there smile. Then, to be absolutely sure his meaning comes across - to Adam, to the crowd, to the entire kingdom - he takes Adam’s hand in his and bends down to kiss it. Quiet, certain, chivalrous.

This time, Adam hears the gasps.

* * *

“You should have told me!” Despite Gansey’s fine, cultured voice, it comes out pleading rather than angry. And maybe he is right. Maybe Adam should have told him.

They’d exited the tourney stands quickly, Henry and Noah dissolving in the crowd to do their version of damage control, Blue catching Adam’s hand for a moment to press it gently in support. Then Gansey had dragged him off to the prince’s private rooms, while Ronan disappeared into his tent to remove his armor, not seeming to care the slightest bit that he’d just put half the city - and all the nobles - into an uproar.

But Adam knew then, and knows now, that Ronan cares. Not what they think of him - he’s never cared much about that - but what the effects might be. They’ve hidden this for so long, and there have been very good reasons. Now that it’s out, how can either of them know what will happen?

“We could pass it off as a jest,” Gansey says, pressing his fingers to his temples. His eyes flicker to Adam, and Adam shakes his head, brief and final.

They could. It wouldn’t be that difficult, given Ronan’s long history of treating that rose - meant to be a symbol of romance, admiration, devotion - as meaningless. The kiss could be explained away in the same way. It might even be the smart thing to do, but Adam doesn’t think it’s what Ronan wants. He doesn’t think it’s what _he_ wants, either, as much as the possible repercussions of this frighten him.

“This whole time,” Gansey says, quieter now.

“Not the whole time,” Adam says, apologetic. “Not long after you came of age, but - not before that. Not at the Academy.” The clarification doesn’t seem to help much.

It’s true, perhaps, that he should have told Gansey. Gansey has always been a devoted friend, a caring one. He would have been taken aback - he _was_ taken aback, Adam saw the shock in his eyes the moment after it was all over. But he rallied quickly, and it’s clear now that he’s more upset that it was a secret than that it happened at all. Adam should have known - he did know. But the more people who knew, even the most trustworthy ones, the easier it would have been to get out.

And maybe, since it was a secret, Adam wanted to keep that secret all to himself.

It isn’t a secret anymore.

“What was he thinking? He didn’t warn you?” Gansey paces the room, restless.

“I had no warning,” Adam says, though he wonders if he could have figured it out, if he’d watched more closely. Maybe. Maybe not. Ronan has always been adept at surprising him.

“What will you do?” Gansey stops, then, and turns to face Adam, worry written across his face.

“That’s a meaningless question,” Adam says, meeting his eyes. “I’ll stay with him for as long as he’ll have me. I love him.” It’s the first time he’s said it so boldly, so clearly. He can see the shock in Gansey’s eyes again. He feels it in his own heart, too, the acknowledgement of something that’s long been true. “The question is what Declan will do.”

That’s what it comes down to. Adam doesn’t know him well enough - barely knows him at all. He can’t anticipate how Declan Lynch will react to Ronan’s shocking display, though Adam has to assume it won’t be good. This is Ronan, acting out more than ever before, flouting society’s rules and expectations with a grim disinterest.

If a mere rumor was enough to push Declan into demanding a betrothal, what will this do?

He’ll have found Ronan by now. He probably did immediately. Adam should have gone to him as well, but with Gansey’s command to _Follow me_ in his ear, he couldn’t. Gansey is, after all, still his prince.

“I have to see him,” Adam says, and there’s something raw in his voice that softens the set of Gansey’s shoulders.

“Of course,” Gansey says. “Should I come? No. I probably shouldn’t. That would be awkward, right?” He’s near to babbling, now, and Adam takes tight hold of his own emotions. He still has a job to do, after all.

“No, I’ll do this alone. Whatever Declan decides, it shouldn’t be influenced by you - I don’t want that, and I know Ronan doesn’t.” Truthfully, Adam doesn’t think Gansey could influence Declan. He may be the prince, but Declan is older and cannier, stubborn and powerful. He’ll do what he wants with his own lands, regardless of what Gansey might request. Gansey being there would just make things more difficult. Adam focuses instead on what Gansey will need to deal with.

He phrases it delicately, not wanting to provide undue influence. “Some of the nobles might wish for you to dismiss us.”

For the crime of loving one another and nothing more. Adam thinks it’s ridiculous. He knows it’s possible.

“Don’t be foolish,” Gansey says, drawing himself up, the mantle of power settling about him as if it’s meant to be there. It is, of course. Perhaps this is something he was born with, flowing through royal blood, or perhaps it’s simply who he is. Adam is impressed, despite himself. “They don’t choose my court. I do, and I’ve chosen. Let them come, and they’ll see they won’t be making my decisions for me.”

The faintest of smiles curls Adam’s lips. Gansey is a true friend, the sort Adam can trust with everything. It’s unfair to him that they kept it a secret for so long, even selfish, but it’s not something that can be undone. Silently, Adam promises himself that he will make it up to Gansey.

“I’ll return as quickly as I can,” Adam says, knowing that nobles will likely be descending on Gansey at any moment, to exclaim and whisper and try to make demands.

Gansey softens a little, looking at him. “No. Adam, take your time. Whatever happens - I think Ronan will need you.”

The fear of what’s to come grips Adam again. He nods, thankful beyond words, and then he leaves Gansey’s rooms.

There are glances in the hallways, whispers as he walks. He ignores them. It’s easy - there have always been glances and whispers about Adam Parrish, penniless peasant who became the crown prince’s advisor, who will one day be one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. Even now, he’s near to that height. There have always been whispers. Adam has always ignored them. The content may be different now, but his response remains the same.

He asks a servant where the Lynch brothers have been seen, a servant he knows, a servant who meets his eyes with calm acceptance. Maybe they knew, he thinks. Maybe he and Ronan weren’t as discreet as he thought - maybe his friendship with the lower classes of the palace kept them safe for this long.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Adam heads to Ronan’s rooms.

He knocks before entering, but does not wait to be let in. As he enters the room, Ronan turns toward him, an open and almost vulnerable expression on his face. Declan turns too, his expression impossible to read.

Adam’s eyes meet Ronan’s. He says nothing yet, but walks to Ronan’s side. The tension in Ronan’s shoulders relaxes marginally at that open show of support.

Declan frowns. “There you are.”

“Gansey needed me,” Adam says. It’s enough of an explanation for anyone - when the prince calls, they must answer, regardless of anything else. It was the right choice, anyway. They need Gansey’s support more than nearly anyone’s.

Except, of course, for Declan, who holds Ronan’s future in his hands.

Declan nods, acknowledging Adam’s words. He looks at Adam for a moment, then, and Adam can practically see the scales changing in his head, Adam turning from a trusted friend of Ronan’s into something else, something much more complicated. Adam looks back, quiet and steady, though inside he feels neither of those things.

Finally, Declan’s gaze returns to Ronan, and becomes something more like a scowl. Ronan prickles a bit in response with his own scowl, and Adam is not sure whether to be worried or oddly amused by their reaction to one another. Two cats, fur on end, ready to hiss. Or maybe more accurately, two dogs moments away from snarling.

“You’ve gotten yourself into a fine situation here, Ronan,” Declan says. “This will be the biggest scandal of the year. We could play it off, of course - everyone knows your disinterest in playing to their expectations. They’d buy that.”

It’s the same thought Gansey had, but Declan doesn’t really seem to be considering it. He says it as if it’s merely something to check off, an idea to toss out and discard, not an actual option. Maybe he knows Ronan better than expected, because of course Ronan would never go along with something like that.

And indeed, he bares his teeth in something that’s almost a snarl, shaking his head with a quick, final movement. Some part of Adam is soothed by this, the acknowledgement that the rose - the kiss - was meant with all seriousness.

He hadn’t doubted it before. Not really. That’s not Ronan’s way. But after all the doubts, this week of silence - some part of him was afraid. The part that whispers in his ear, telling him he’s not good enough, he’s a fraud, not meant to be Gansey’s advisor, not fit for Ronan’s devotion. But that voice has always been a lie, and Adam has gotten better and better at ignoring it. He looks at Declan levelly, in quiet agreement with Ronan. They won’t back down from this.

“God, if you’d just _said_ something -” Declan snaps, frustrated, and presses his fingers to his temple.

“Would that have changed anything?” Adam says. 

Declan looks at him for a long moment before sighing, shaking his head. “No. I suppose not.”

They both knew that was the answer. Even not knowing Declan well, Adam knew it. There’s no open tolerance for this sort of thing among nobles, though hidden relationships between those of the same sex are not unknown. If Ronan had told Declan, nothing would have been different. Likely, Declan would have proposed the same thing Adam did - marry for appearances, and keep Adam as a lover on the side. In that way, they think the same. They think of what will be accepted, what will prevent scandal. They think everything through.

Ronan thinks of what he wants, what he believes is the right thing to do. Or maybe he simply doesn’t think at all, and just acts, not caring what society will think of him. Adam has always been simultaneously frustrated and captivated by that, just as he is now. That’s part of Ronan Lynch, the essence of him, infuriating and brave and dangerous to everything that makes up Adam Parrish.

“We won’t go back on it,” Adam says, and he feels Ronan’s eyes on him. “What are you going to do?”

He feels daring, unmoored. This really could destroy them both. Even now, Adam’s mind is working on the problem, judging outcomes. Gansey is powerful and stubborn, and will not dismiss them. They’ll have that, at least. But this will change how the nobles see them, their effectiveness, the respect they’re given. 

That’s something to worry about later. Right now, this is what’s at stake - Ronan’s home. Declan’s opinion, and the Council’s with it.

Adam doesn’t know Declan well enough to know what he’ll do. Ronan is expecting the worst, Adam can tell from the tension radiating off him. They’ll have to deal with whatever comes. Adam doesn’t know if they’ll last - not if he’s the reason Ronan can never go home. That will lay between them forever, the constant knowledge of what Ronan gave up. Can love withstand something like that, over the years? Adam is not a romantic, and would say no. He’s seen what happens when love dies but those involved are still tied together. Ronan, on the other hand, is - in a subtle but powerful way, his romance lying in his unstinting loyalty, his willingness to do something like this. It’s impossible to say what will happen. What could happen.

Declan looks between them for a long moment. He sighs, as if this has taken years off his life, aged him into an old man before his time.

Adam can’t really blame him.

“Very well, then. You’re both fools, and I can neither condone nor understand your relationship.” He pauses for a moment, and Adam’s stomach sinks. “But in fact, this solves one problem fairly neatly.” His assessing gaze lands on Adam again. “You’re level-headed, when my brother isn’t influencing you, and you’re already taking care of some of his affairs. You’ll remember, I needed him to marry to be sure his lands would be cared for properly. As it stands, you’ll do just as well as any of the ladies I chose.” There’s a pause then, before he adds, carefully: “Perhaps better.”

In the back of his mind, leaves curl, and Adam doesn’t think that’s an assessment of his character. It’s about his magic, and he doesn’t know how much Declan knows of that, but - he was raised in the same place Ronan was. He knows the power of the forest, and perhaps he knows of Adam’s connection, in some way.

Then the rest of it sinks in, and his eyes widen.

“The Council -” Adam says.

“Oh, they’ll be shocked by this, don’t doubt that. But we’re all of age, and I’ll be taking my father’s place as lord. My opinion has more weight now than ever. They’ll fall into line.” Declan’s eyes narrow, returning to Ronan. “As long as you don’t do anything else this stupid. Going against God and man’s expectations both, Ronan, only you -” he shakes his head again, a swift and angry movement. “You’re not making things easy for yourself.”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Ronan says, and there’s not a single note of gratitude in his voice. Adam bites back a sudden smile at the simple fact of _Ronan_ , snapping at his brother even now.

“Don’t be an ass,” Declan says, “I haven’t the faintest idea how Parrish puts up with it. I suppose you suit each other, somehow.”

Adam supposes he’s right.

“Just remember, you both chose this,” he says, and then, almost reluctant, adds: “I’ll speak to the Council.”

“Thank you,” Adam says, because he knows Ronan isn’t going to. Ronan scowls, but the simple fact that he isn’t arguing with his brother speaks clearly of his feelings, his own strange sort of gratitude.

Declan stops at the door, looks at Adam with that penetrating gaze once more. His eyes are a shade darker than Ronan’s, but just as sharp.

“He is my brother, you know,” he says.

Adam nods quietly in acknowledgement. Declan won’t say the rest, but it exists in the silence between them - his love for Ronan, his desire for his brother’s happiness, his willingness to accept this even if he doesn’t understand it, even if it goes against everything he’s been taught.

It’s more than Adam expected. He doesn’t say anything. He’ll prove himself through his actions, through his own devotion to Ronan. Declan’s trust is not something Adam needs - he will love Ronan regardless - but it’s not something he’ll throw away, either.

Then Declan leaves, and they’re alone, and Adam turns to Ronan. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m surprised you two didn’t fight,” he says finally, because he can’t find the words to express what he really wants to say.

“We did, before you came,” Ronan says. All his attention is on Adam. “He said some shit, I told him he was a stuck-up fucker. I wasn’t - I didn’t know if you’d come.” He looks away at the end, as if it’s difficult to admit, as if admitting it shows weakness.

Adam frowns, just a little. “You didn’t think I’d come?”

“I didn’t know,” Ronan corrects, voice rough. “Thought you might be pissed.” He meets Adam’s eyes again. “Are you?”

Adam thinks about it. He can see why Ronan would be afraid of that. There had been strained distance between them for a week, and then a sudden and extremely public gesture of affection, one that might still have unseen fallout. Despite Gansey’s support, despite Declan’s surprising acquiescence, there are so many possibilities for harm, and they’ve worked to keep this secret for so long.

“I’m not mad,” Adam says, looking up at Ronan. The lines of his face, the dark shadow of his eyelashes, his thin lips. Adam loves every part of him. “But this isn’t going to be easy. Not for either of us.”

“I know,” Ronan says. He reaches for Adam, circling Adam’s wrist with his hand, not yet pulling him closer. “I just - couldn’t fucking take it anymore. I’m not gonna marry someone else when you’re the only one I want.”

Adam steps close, resting his forehead in the crook of Ronan’s neck, breathing him in. Part of him says that he doesn’t deserve this, Ronan’s love, his devotion, his willingness to put everything on the line just to be with him. But the rest of him knows that it isn’t about deserving or not deserving, it’s about love, about trust and partnership. It’s about Adam being willing to fight this fight, to face whatever comes, to stay by Ronan’s side regardless of what the world thinks of them. It’s about Ronan choosing him, and him choosing Ronan back.

He thinks about that moment when he turned to see the rose in Ronan’s hand. He thinks about how he should have been angry, maybe, or stunned or taken aback. Ronan, impulsively dragging their lives out of the shadows.

But all he felt was relief. The burden lifted, a choice made that he had been too afraid to even consider. That he would never have been able to propose, because it was Ronan’s home on the line, Ronan’s happiness. Ronan’s decision to choose him instead of a life of lies.

Maybe he should have been mad, but anger was never even there for a moment.

“I love you,” he says. Ronan’s arms slide around him, one hand resting at the small of his back, and he listens to the slight hitch in Ronan’s breathing. He pulls back just enough so that he can look up and meet Ronan’s eyes. “We’re going to be the talk of the kingdom.”

“Parrish,” Ronan says, “I don’t give a single shit.”

He grins, fierce and beautiful, and Adam can do nothing but kiss him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ronan takes stock of what he has.

There’s a part of Ronan that can barely believes that this is the life he has. 

He remembers the anger, the aimless misery of his school years. He remembers loss, and pain, and struggle, and never really believing that it would end. That he would be happy.

But here he is.

He woke up this morning and Adam was next to him, fast asleep in their shared bed. Gansey suggested it after most of the scandal had died down, pointing out that there was no reason for them to stay apart now. There was no reason to pretend people didn’t know. Ronan wasn’t sure that Adam would agree - he’s still so careful, always thinking things through - but he did, and they were given rooms to share. A place to live together, in the comfort of the palace.

And now Ronan gets to wake up next to Adam. He gets to watch the quiet stillness of Adam Parrish asleep, the muted vulnerability of it. He gets to count Adam’s freckles, wake him up with a kiss, or slip out to let him sleep - even now Adam works too hard, sleeps too little when he gets caught up in something.

He gets to laugh at the ridiculous mess Adam’s hair is sometimes after he gets up, and he gets to wake him up with more than a kiss sometimes, if he wants. He gets this, a life with Adam, a life without giving up any of the things he loves.

Not everyone has a chance at something like this. Ronan does not dwell on might-have-beens, but he knows how close they came to losing each other. Every moment together is proof that they’re stronger than that. That somehow, through luck and stubbornness, they found a way.

It wasn’t easy, but Ronan knows it was harder on Adam than him. He’s never cared what anyone thought of him, only cared about fighting for what he wanted. Adam did care, still does, never really had the option not to. Ronan doesn’t understand that, not really, but he doesn’t have to understand something to know it’s true.

After the tournament, they were the talk of the kingdom, just like Adam knew they would be. A few of the more conservative nobles petitioned for Gansey to dismiss them, a well-known priest railed against their sin, many of the courtiers tried to ostracize them. For Ronan, it didn’t really matter. He has never cared about the social circle of the court, never even much cared about what priests say - his relationship with God is a personal thing, church merely a conduit.

But Adam cared. Adam has fought so hard for everything in his life. That’s part of why Ronan was so fascinated by him, back at the beginning, part of why that fascination turned to something else. Adam Parrish is the most stubborn and driven person Ronan has ever met.

He cared what they thought of him. He still does. Ronan knows he should feel guiltier for ruining that, but instead he just feels angry when he thinks about it. The fact that they would lose any respect for Adam just because of this is fucking idiotic - as if he hasn’t proved himself a thousand times over, proved that he’s _better_ than all of them.

He made it up to Adam however he could, back then. Mostly that involved a lot of blowjobs and cruel imitations of the shittier nobles - Ronan has never claimed to be good at comforting people. It made Adam laugh, and that’s all he cares about, even now. 

And of course, Gansey was having none of it. None of their friends were. He refused the nobles with a frosty demeanour, took care to treat Adam and Ronan with exactly the same respect and friendship as ever. Henry, always adept at reading a room, turned the tides of the court - somehow he managed to make it fashionable to flout conventions. He and Noah together cultivated a circle of young nobles like themselves, more interested in new and novel ideas than in upholding old traditions.

None of them have gone as far as Ronan and Adam, of course. None of them have the courage - or likely the desire - to openly take a lover of their own gender, refuse marriage, and weather anything that might come their way. But they try new and wild fashions, they experiment with odd technologies, they support young artists. They support the prince’s court, as outlandish and scandalous as his advisor and knight-captain are.

Ronan thinks it’s all pretty stupid, and doesn’t speak to any of them. Adam doesn’t socialize much either - he never has - but Ronan can see the way it smoothes his path. He has an easier time doing his job when he has potential allies to call upon. He is flustered, sometimes, by the odd admiration. And, most importantly, it helps blunt the disapproval of the other nobles.

It’s all right, even if it’s not Ronan’s thing. Even he can appreciate having that buffer, and Henry and Noah are living it up, which is pretty hilarious to watch. So far they haven’t even come close to matching the scandal Ronan and Adam so easily stumbled into, but Noah seems to be trying - Ronan heard a great story about him, a disgustingly expensive bottle of whiskey, and the stained glass window in the great hall the other day. He hopes it’s true.

All in all, Ronan thinks things have settled well. It’s been months since his impromptu public confession, and at the beginning - when things were very bad - he’d occasionally questioned whether it had been a good idea. Well, no. He _knows_ it was logically a bad idea, the kind of thing the Adam Parrishes of the world (thoughtful, analytical, a little ruthless, pretty sexy) would never do. It was a huge gamble. He could have lost everything, and all he could think of at the time was that he was _already_ losing everything.

Now he doesn’t wonder if it was a bad idea anymore. This - Adam, these rooms, their happiness - could never be anything but good. 

And he has his home, too. They’ve visited a couple times already, when Adam couldn’t take the snotty nobles anymore or when Ronan desperately needed freedom. It’s a revelation, being home again, watching Adam in the forest with power at his fingertips and contentment in his bones. Declan got them there - he argued the council into agreement in his own Declan way, and even Ronan has to grudgingly admit that without his support they would not be where they are now.

He’s still an asshole. But, well. He’s Ronan’s brother.

This life is, truly, the kind of thing he once thought impossible.

He wakes next to Adam, spends their mornings together - a quick breakfast sometimes, when there are things to be done, but other days are more leisurely. Other days, he can tug Adam back into bed, distract him with kisses, and sometimes they don’t end up with any time for breakfast.

Then Adam is off to be a genius and help Gansey run the kingdom, and Ronan takes care of guard rotation or training or sending out patrols to trouble spots. It might not be glamorous or as free as he could dream, but he’s good at it, and he finds an odd satisfaction in that. He knows Adam is also not always happy with his own work, especially considering the difficulty some of the nobles offer him now. Things aren’t perfect - he supposes life is never perfect - but this is closer than Ronan ever believed he could get.

After everything - training, meetings with Gansey or his father or the commanders, court dinners that bore him, snarling at nosy noblewomen - he gets to go home to Adam. With Adam.

They aren’t showy in public. That isn’t them, it never will be. But everyone knows, and that means he can sit next to Adam, shadow him at banquets, watch him from across the room.

Actually, Ronan did all those things before. But now he doesn’t have to pretend it’s for any other reason than his own feelings.

Now they can leave court together, openly, and there will be whispers and maybe an unpleasant look or two but nothing more. They don’t have to pretend. They can share rooms, share a bed, share a life.

It’s not perfect. Ronan knows the things some people say about them. He just doesn’t care, and though it bothered him at first, he doesn’t think Adam cares anymore, either.

They have Gansey. They have Noah, and Henry, and Blue. They have Declan’s support, for some fucking unknown reason. They have a home, they have their work, they have - fuck. Everything.

It feels weird to be so happy. It feels like the way things should always be, and like a soap bubble, ready to disappear in a moment. But it never does.

When he comes back to their rooms after a late evening, Gansey is there. Ronan’s always a bit put out when he can’t take dinner with Adam - even sharing a court dinner with him is better than nothing, but tonight he had a commander to meet with. It seems like Gansey decided to keep Adam company, which is good (though admittedly Ronan feels a tiny twinge of jealousy, a familiar ache from back when he didn’t think Adam would ever smile at him like that). There are the remains of a meal on the side table, and they’re both smiling when Ronan walks in - Gansey bright and open, Adam charmed and bemused.

“I miss something?” Ronan says, tossing his cloak in the general direction of one of the chairs, and moving a stack of Adam’s books off another so he can fling himself down in it.

“Not at all,” Gansey says, voice cultured but thick with excitement. “You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” Ronan says, not entirely sure he’ll like what he hears.

“You’ve inspired him,” Adam says, and his tone is dryly amused. There’s a touch of wariness there, which just makes him sound exactly the way he does when Ronan has talked him into doing something he knows he probably shouldn’t.

Things seem more promising then.

“Well, to be frank, he’s right,” Gansey says. “I was inspired by your willingness to risk everything for love. It’s like a storybook - in fact, I’m sure there will be ballads about the two of you before long. If there aren’t already.”

‘Risk everything for love’ sounds pretty fucking lame, but Ronan supposes that’s what happened. Kind of. If you wanted to put it in Gansey-speak.

“So you’re finally gonna run away and become a nerdy history lecturer somewhere?” Ronan grins, sharp and entertained by the expression on Gansey’s face.

“Tempting, but no.” Gansey bites his lip, puts his fingers to his temple, nervous and excited. “I’m going to ask Blue to marry me.”

“Shit,” Ronan says, rather impressed despite himself. He may not care much about politics or the court, but he’s well aware of the consequences - the crown prince up and marrying a woman who, while not low-born, isn’t even a noble? A woman known for ignoring all of society’s expectations, traveling on her own, living life on her terms? Gansey’s parents have been coming closer and closer to negotiating a marriage for him, Ronan knows, a contract with a foreign princess. This would upend all of that.

He’s kind of impressed.

He looks at Adam, who still has that bemused expression on his face. Adam shrugs, the tiniest of movements, and his lips twist into a wry smile. “It’ll be a huge scandal,” he says.

In any other situation, Ronan would expect Adam to be trying to talk Gansey out of this. But Adam’s eyes meeting his speaks volumes. Neither of them have any leg to stand on when it comes to scandal. Adam can’t exactly tell Gansey it would be a bad idea when he accepted Ronan’s rose in front of half the kingdom.

And it’s not like Ronan could say anything either, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. 

He grins instead. “Well, damn, Dick. You’re gonna blow us out of the water.”

“If Blue says yes,” Adam points out, though he sounds far more amused than worried. 

“She’s still in the city. I must speak with her as soon as possible.” Gansey smiles, bright and excited. “Thank you both.” And then he’s gone, off to do something wild and unexpected and totally unlike him.

It’s gonna be interesting.

Ronan turns to Adam. “Holy shit.”

Adam shrugs. “I didn’t even try to talk him out of it. He supported us - it’ll be tough, but I think we can make it work out.” He still looks a little blindsided, which is how Ronan feels too, but it’s slowly settling into something more like determination. “The king and queen will disapprove, but I don’t think either of them are cruel enough to demand an annulment, if they even can. And everything else, well, we’ll figure it out.”

Ronan can practically see Adam’s mind begin to pick the problem apart, try to find all the angles trouble could come from so he can anticipate them. It’s something he’s shit at, something Adam excels at without even trying. It’s not that Ronan isn’t smart, it’s that he isn’t suited for that kind of logical problem-solving. No one he knows is, not the way Adam is. If anyone can find a way through a problem like this, it’s him.

“You think Sargent will go along with it?” That’s the real question. Blue is her own person, fiercely independent and not inclined to flights of fancy. Ronan doesn’t want to see Gansey get his heart broken - even if that would make their lives easier.

Adam mulls it over for a moment. “I think so. She loves him. And she’s sensible, but…” he looks at Ronan, pretty blue eyes fond. “Sometimes the most sensible people do stupidly foolish things when love is involved.”

Ronan grins and leans down, catching Adam’s chin in his hand and tilting his head up so they can kiss. Adam’s lips are soft, his mouth sweet, and Ronan is reminded once again that he has this, that this is his life now.

He will thank his god for this every moment he can, no matter what the priests might think.

Straightening up, he catches Adam’s hand and tugs him to his feet as well. “Come on. Gansey and the midget are a problem for later.”

“What’s a problem for now, then?” Adam says, amused, already knowing the answer.

Ronan feels his smile turn sharper, loves the responding spark in Adam’s eyes. “I’ll show you.”

He pulls Adam into their bedroom, pressing him back against the door and sliding a hand under the fine fabric of his shirt once they’re inside. This, this is all theirs now - all his. Adam Parrish, in his bed every night, leaning in for another kiss, his slender and beautiful fingers untangling the knot of Ronan’s tunic ties.

Adam pushes Ronan’s shirt off his shoulders and Ronan pushes him to the bed, helping him undress.

He’s not good with words. He never has been, and Adam doesn’t seem to mind it, but he tries to make up for it with actions. He tries to worship Adam the way Adam deserves, the way Ronan wants to worship him. His slim shoulders, the wiry, lean muscles of his body. He’s filled out a little now that he’s fed by the palace kitchens, but Adam is never going to be anything but lean.

Ronan presses kisses down his collarbone, biting at the skin there to hear Adam’s soft gasp, music to his ears. He likes that, the sounds Adam makes, quiet and sudden, always seeming as if he can’t stop himself, sounds of pleasure spilling from his lips despite his natural tendency toward silence. He likes knowing that he’s the only one who hears them.

He feels like he’s loved Adam forever, though he knows it hasn’t been that long. A few years since they met, and though he was attracted to Adam instantly, it didn’t flower into more until he started to know him as a person. His jealousy over Gansey’s friendship faded, and he found himself reluctantly impressed by Adam’s stubbornness, his intelligence, his refusal to let the nobles around him intimidate him. The distance in his gaze, the magic under his skin. There were so many little things that set Adam apart, that got under Ronan’s skin and embedded hooks in his heart.

It was impossible, he thought back then. Adam would never see him like that, would never want him back. His unrequited desire for the untouchable Adam Parrish was just another drop in the pool of misery that was his life - a lost home, a dead father, an estranged brother. A future he wasn’t sure he wanted, a court he didn’t think he belonged in.

But here he is now. Adam undressed, beneath him on the bed, reaching for Ronan with need in his eyes and desire on his lips. Impossible, impossibly beautiful. And all his.

Untouchable?

Not even a little.

Ronan would like to take his time, kiss every freckle on Adam’s skin, every scar that’s a reminder of a harsh memory. But he’s too impatient - he’s often too impatient, and Adam is amused by it, encouraged by it. He likes feeling wanted, Ronan knows. He likes knowing how much Ronan wants him.

Which is good, because Ronan doesn’t think he could hide it if he tried.

He settles between Adam’s legs and bends down, taking Adam’s cock in his mouth.

Adam draws a breath, fast and a little choked, and his head falls back against the pillows. The only drawback to blowing Adam, in Ronan’s opinion, is not being able to watch the expression on his face. The way his eyes shut when it’s almost too much, the way he bites his lip, the hunger in his gaze when he looks at Ronan. 

He grips Adam’s thigh, feeling Adam’s muscles tense beneath his hand, and takes Adam’s cock deeper. He likes the weight of Adam, the taste on his tongue, nearly everything about it. It was strange at first, finding pleasure with another man after he’d been told how wrong it is for so long, but Ronan doesn’t think it’s wrong. Not when it’s like this, done with love, with worship. Something holy.

Drawing back, Ronan flattens his tongue against the underside of Adam’s shaft, drawing a low groan from his lips. It makes Ronan’s own cock, already hard as a rock, twitch. This is good, Ronan thinks, he could make Adam come so easily - he loves making Adam come - but it could be even better.

He lifts his head, letting Adam slide from his lips. Adam makes a small sound of loss, of distress, and Ronan grins. He moves up Adam’s body, reaching with one hand to retrieve the ointment they keep nearby. Then he bends down and captures Adam’s lips in a searing, hungry kiss. He can taste traces of Adam in his mouth still, knows Adam can taste himself on Ronan’s lips. Adam arches into the kiss, hungry and demanding, and reaches for Ronan just as Ronan pulls back.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Adam says, and it’s probably meant to be scolding but he’s far too breathless for it to sound anything but needy. 

“Don’t be bossy,” Ronan says in return, though his own voice is less mocking than he intended - he’s breathless too. Adam does that to him.

And it’s okay, because Adam likes it when he’s an asshole, just the way Ronan likes it when Adam is bossy. It’s incredible to think that he knows what Adam likes, knows exactly how to touch him and what he’s only in the mood for occasionally. He knows that sometimes Adam wants to tell him what to do, wants Ronan at his mercy and obeying his every command, and Ronan is only too ready to do so. He knows that other times, Adam wants nothing more than to put himself in Ronan’s hands, let Ronan overwhelm him - as if Ronan is the only thing in the world that he truly feels safe letting his guard down around, letting control him for a little while. And fuck, Ronan loves that.

And sometimes there’s a push and pull, and sometimes there’s nothing but need, and sometimes it’s teasing and laughter. And sometimes it’s disgustingly sappy, more so than Ronan would ever want to admit, but he will always adamantly insist to himself that it’s pretty fucking badass to gaze into someone’s eyes and tell them you love them while you bring them off.

He reaches down to stroke Adam’s cock, still slick with his own spit, and he feels Adam twitch in his hand.

“Don’t come yet,” he says, voice low. “I want you to come while I’m inside you.”

Adam bites his lip, stifling a soft moan, and spreads his legs wider in eager invitation. Uncapping the bottle, Ronan slicks his fingers and settles between Adam’s legs again, preparing him.

He’d like to say he takes his time, and sometimes he actually even manages too, but mostly Ronan is too hungry for Adam to go slow. If they take their time, it’s usually because Adam is dictating their pace and he wants to tease Ronan, get him worked up until it’s too much for either of them to take anymore. When Ronan is left to his own devices, his hands on Adam are eager, his mouth greedy, his need impossible to deny.

Luckily, Adam likes that. This time is no different. He adjusts to Ronan’s fingers, relaxing only to tense again when Ronan curls his fingers within Adam, brushing that place inside of him. 

“Fuck, Ronan - come on, please.” It’s not quite begging, too insistent for that, but it’s close. It shatters the last bit of self control that Ronan has. Adam is ready, he’s ready, he can’t seem to think of any reason on God’s green earth to take it slow anymore.

Ronan pushes into him, eased by the slickness of the ointment. It’s good, it’s always so fucking good, Adam is tight and hot and he moans with such pleasure when Ronan is inside him. He could die like this and be happy, he sometimes thinks, only then he’d never be satisfied.

He slides a hand under Adam’s thigh, braces himself against the bed, and then he begins to move. Adam’s fingers tangle in the sheets and his head falls back, and he’s so fucking beautiful when he loses himself like this, all dusty hair and tanned skin and long limbs, moaning Ronan’s name.

Ronan loses himself in it too, in Adam, moving inside him, thrusting faster as his pleasure and need build. He can hear Adam’s soft cries, never loud even now but utterly artless, neither of them able to do anything but exist in this moment. Adam’s hips move against him, his back arching to move with Ronan, taking him deeper, urging him on.

It lasts forever and not long enough. With almost no warning, Adam is shuddering and tensing as he comes, his body tightening around Ronan. And that alone is enough to send Ronan over the edge too, a sudden rush of the most intense bliss. His hands grip Adam, holding on to him as they both come, connected on a level Ronan finds it hard to fathom.

It’s so fucking good. It always is, it doesn’t matter what they do. In the aftermath, Ronan feels loose and easy and happy, and Adam lays back against the sheets with a boneless grace. If Ronan were an artist, he’d want to draw Adam like this, content and sated at his hands.

He’d probably be condemned for obscenity, but it would be worth it.

He strokes Adam’s thigh once, gently, then pulls out of him and lets himself collapse on the bed, warm and tired. He could fall asleep like this, but Adam - always careful - retrieves cloth and water and cleans the both of them up. Then he climbs back into bed with Ronan, yawns, kisses him, and curls close to fall asleep.

They both sleep easier with the other there. They’ve never talked about it, but Ronan knows it’s true. He’s been plagued with insomnia most of his life, and Adam works himself to exhaustion if he’s allowed, ignoring sleep. But Ronan can coax Adam into bed - for sleep and other things - and Adam warm and quiet next to him seems to make it easier for Ronan to slip into sleep, as well. Especially if they’ve just done something like this.

He relaxes with Adam next to him, lets his eyes slide shut. He holds on to the moment. He thinks about what he has. Everything, really.

Adam has made his life what it is now - his home, his happiness, his determination to keep them. It wasn’t just him, of course, Gansey is the one who got Ronan this far, gave him a place and a chance to live and recover. So fuck it. He'll do whatever he can to make up for everything they've done. He'll protect Gansey with his life. He'll give Adam the kind of happiness he deserves, the safety no one ever gave him before, love, lots of orgasms. It won't be perfect - they still fight sometimes, the kingdom still doesn't quite know what to do with them. Ronan can be too angry, and Adam can be too cold. But Ronan isn't going to give up, no matter what comes. He knows Adam won't, either.

They've come this far together. Now they'll fight for each other, and for Gansey, their prince, and for his obnoxious, short, angry future queen.

Adam's arm is thrown across Ronan's waist, Adam's nose pressed to his neck. He can feel Adam's soft breath against his skin, lulling him to sleep, and he lets it.

Adam will be there when he wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part! Thank you so much to everyone who's read it, to people who followed from the beginning or are reading in one sitting now that it's done, to people who left comments or kudos or recced my fic to their friends or really anything! This is the longest fic I've ever written and it was so satisfying, both to write and to see people's thoughts and reactions as I posted it. I definitely wouldn't have been able to finish without all the encouragement I got from you guys, and I'm so, so grateful.
> 
> Through (mostly) coincidence, this last part is getting posted on Adam's birthday. Happy birthday, Adam Parrish, I hope you like your happy ending!


End file.
